


The Suite Life

by CartWrite



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Angst, Domestic, First Time, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Post-Series, Romance, SGA Secret Santa Fic Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 22:11:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16819462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CartWrite/pseuds/CartWrite
Summary: But then Rodney would stand close to him, or be unexpectedly kind, or do something stupid and heroic, and John’s entire body would shouthim, that one, Rodney McKay, him. Like the world was a candy store where John could just point and sayI’ll have the genius with the big blue eyesand Rodney would be his with a bow on.*****John did not ask to sprain his ankle, to be reassigned to the best quarters in Atlantis, or for Rodney McKay to become his new neighbor. But that’s what happened. Post-series.Here’s wishing callunavulgari a very Merry Christmas. She gave me a detailed letter with lots of avenues to explore. I was struck by “domesticity” and “a slow, lazy kind of jam that just makes me happy.” Here’s my attempt at that. <3





	1. Moving

**Author's Note:**

  * For [callunavulgari](https://archiveofourown.org/users/callunavulgari/gifts).



Major Lorne stood behind the wheelchair. 

John frowned at Dr. Sherri “Call me Dr. Sherri” Brooks from his bed. He’d gone straight from a fall on M91-X3R7 to the Atlantis infirmary. Dr. Sherri had scanned him, elevated him, iced him, wrapped him, and made him wait two hours for what he suspected was her own sick amusement. “You said it was a little sprain.”

“A mild sprain,” Dr. Sherri corrected. “And I want you to stay off it for two weeks. Light duty only, sitting down if possible.” She went on about caring for his ankle, and mentioned something about it not being back to full strength until six weeks out. 

“Even two weeks is a long time to be out of commission,” John said. 

“You should watch your step next time.” Dr. Sherri snapped off her latex gloves. “Listen, Colonel. You want to go from a man with a sprain to a man who always has to worry his ankle is going to roll on him? Then I recommend not following my instructions.” 

John scowled. Out of the infirmary, Dr. Sherri came across as more of a kindly Grandma than a world class trauma surgeon, but in it she could be—well, a mean Grandma. Some days, he really missed Carson. Hell, some days he even missed Keller. “Fine. I’ll ice it. Is there a pamphlet?” Since she’d arrived, there was always a pamphlet. 

Dr. Sherri handed him one. “Read it.” 

“Fine,” John said.

Major Lorne’s mouth curved up in the corner. 

John glanced down at the thick black walking boot encasing his foot. “If I’m in this, why do I need a wheelchair? And why are you here, Major?” 

“It’s a long walk, sir,” Major Lorne said. 

John scowled. “It’s not that long.” 

“Get in the chair,” Dr. Sherri ordered, “or I’ll whack your good ankle.” 

“Didn’t you take some kind of oath?” John muttered, but climbed off the bed and into the chair. 

Major Lorne handed him a tablet as he steered the wheelchair out of the infirmary. He set too brisk a pace for John to make a break for it as they maneuvered down the hall. 

John looked at the tablet. He spotted his own name and next to it, an unfamiliar address. “What’s this?”

“The assignment for your new quarters, sir.” 

John held the tablet up over his shoulder. “Come on, Major, we’ve talked about this.” 

“With respect, sir?” Which was Lorne-speak for _you should already have figured this out._ “You weren’t going to avoid it forever.” 

“My quarters are fine. Give them to somebody else.” John’s foot and head hurt. He was hungry. He just wanted to take a shower, climb into bed, and shove some kind of hot food into his face. Not necessarily in that order. He nudged the tablet back at Lorne. 

The Major didn’t take it. “Sir, you’ve avoided an upgrade since we arrived. When they opened the south tower, it ‘wasn’t a good time.’ When the northeast apartments were cleared, you were headed out on a mission and again, it wasn’t a good time. Evergreen Vista?”

John straightened up in the wheelchair. He flashed his most dignified smile at a pair of nurses heading back toward the infirmary. “That’s where all the botanists ended up.”

“The West Pier Villas?” 

“Those aren’t villas,” John noted. “They’re not much bigger than where I am. And they’ve got that…” He hunted for a downside, something, anything. “Great ocean view.” 

“And so on, and so on.” The Major pushed his chair into the transporter and hit a button. His voice softened. “The thing is, sir, with respect?” 

John lowered the tablet into his lap. 

“Everyone else has moved on to something nicer. All those rooms near your old quarters are reserved for the new arrivals, who leave the minute we find them something better. When some private gets assigned a room and realizes he’s right next to the military commander of Atlantis…” Major Lorne trailed off. 

“It doesn’t look right?” John guessed. 

“Exactly, sir.”

The transporter doors opened up on a wide, airy, sunlit hallway in a place in the city John had never been. It felt high up even before John glanced out the window and took in the incredible view of Atlantis’ north pier spreading out far below. “I barely use my quarters as it is, though. They’re just a place to read and sleep. I don’t need or want anything fancy.” He squirmed in the wheelchair. “You don’t have to give me a tour. Just—take me back to my quarters, I’ll sleep it off, and I can find someplace else later this week—”

Major Lorne paused in front of a nondescript pale blue door. “With respect, sir. You’ve already been moved.”

John frowned at the closed door. “I have.”

“We wrapped your furniture in cling wrap and just moved what was in it as-is. I packed and carried up the items from your closet myself. And most of your other possessions, sir, for privacy’s sake. You, ah, travel light,” the Major said.

“I’m a minimalist,” John told the door. He liked Major Lorne. But right then, he also kind of wanted to tread on his toes. “I don’t like people touching my stuff.” 

“Sir—”

“I get it, Major. You respect me,” he said, and waved his palm in front of the sensor. 

His new quarters… had rooms. 

“Whoa.” John couldn’t resist standing up from the chair and limping in under his own steam. It was huge, all glossy hard floors, white walls, and tasteful fixtures. A wall of windows opened onto a balcony. The balcony wasn’t so huge, but it easily fit the putting green that someone had rolled out and weighed down with decorative pots. Beyond it, blue ocean spread far and wide. The living room John stood in—if you could call it a living room, since it felt more like standing in a small airplane hangar—held a pair of low and wide gray couches that looked—well, not comfortable, but stylish. And more comfortable than his old desk chair had been, which had been placed along with his desk in a nook near the front door. Someone had hung up his Johnny Cash poster above something that might have been a fireplace.

In the back on the left, three steps led up onto a raised platform that led to another room. Through an open door, he spotted a bed at least twice as big as his old one and more of the ocean view. There was a small bathroom near the front door, and John suspected he’d find a larger cousin of it off the bedroom. 

The place was something you’d see in a Hollywood movie. It was nicer than million-dollar penthouses in decorating catalogs. Well, except that it didn’t have much decoration. But that in itself was a kind of style. 

Dread gripped John. So much air, so much space, so much light. It was the kind of place people invited themselves over to see. And while they were there, they’d need drinks. They’d expect music, conversation, to possibly see the view from the bedroom. And it was all so open and exposed; great qualities for fancy cocktail parties, but not so much for feeling safe and comfortable. At least, not for John. The place felt more like a terrarium than a sanctuary. “I can’t stay here. This is—this is too much.”

“Well, sir, when ZPMs are plentiful and celebrities and politicians come to Atlantis for weekend getaways, I’m sure someone will take it off your hands. But for now? It’s all yours. It’s actually good for me that you resisted all this time,” Major Lorne said, “Because if these places were up for grabs by just anyone, there would be a bloodbath.” 

John laughed weakly. He stood there, horrified and awed, as the Major excused himself, leaving the wheelchair behind. Not that John planned on using it. John’s foot hurt, so he limped to the nearest couch and sat down. It felt softer and springier than it looked. He still had the ankle care pamphlet in his hand. John read it aloud, only a little surprised that his voice barely echoed. Page two instructed him to keep his ankle elevated, so John propped it up on the couch. 

After a while, his ankle hurt less and he realized he could smell himself. So John went up and yes, okay, the master bedroom was three times the size of his old quarters, the bed could’ve been a California King and felt sinfully soft, and the bathroom had a separate shower and tub. 

Even the water pressure was better. John dug himself out of his ankle boot and carefully cleaned up with some kind of scented soap that a marine had either thoughtfully left for him or that had survived ten thousand years in its little recessed dispenser. He found his clothes still in his dresser near the bed and grabbed one of his t-shirts from a hanger in an also-fabulous walk-in closet. In his old quarters, the clothing ratio had seemed sensible. Now the empty space asked _do most Earthlings only have five shirts?_

“Oh, well, how much robe storage does an enlightened being need?” John asked the emptiness. 

Dressed, clean, boot back on, he limped through the rooms and spiraled a little. No way could he stay here. He’d find a reason for them to move him. He’d take one of the Evergreen Vista places, even, where ivy and wildflowers grew all over and even inside the apartments, over this cavernous—

_Ding._

A chime sounded. John limped to the front door. He opened it.

Nobody.

_Ding._

It was coming from somewhere near the front door. Something on his desk? No. 

A tiny panel on the wall next to the small bathroom flashed. 

John blinked and looked twice. Wait, the panel wasn’t on a wall at all. It was on a door designed to seamlessly blend in with the rest of the wall. If the panel hadn’t been flashing, John might not have spotted it for days. 

_Ding._

John thought _open_ at it.

The door slid open. 

Rodney McKay held a sheaf of papers in one clenched fist. He shook them at John. “You took your sweet time getting here! Do you know how far your jarheads have set me back?” 

John limped aside as Rodney barreled into his quarters. “Hi, Rodney. What are you…” he started to ask. But as he looked back, John saw that through the open doorway was another set of equally large quarters. Only these had been invaded by an explosion of books, papers, and a few pieces of lab equipment. “They moved you, too?”

“Yes! And everything I was working on. Maybe my old place looked like chaos, but a lot of work looks like chaos to uniformed monkeys who don’t know what they’re looking at. I always meant to move once I got back. Even before we left, um, Jennifer and I.” Rodney’s voice dipped low and his mouth thinned. He recovered a second later. “I’d meant to move. But I never did because my living space—it’s like an ecosystem.” Rodney drifted toward the wall behind one of the couches. He depressed a button and a bar-height counter complete with cabinets swung out. “It has a delicate order that must be preserved.” Rodney opened up a boxy lower panel and fished out a—

“Is that a mini bottle of champagne?” John asked. 

“Yes. ‘Enjoy your new quarters!’ Well, isn’t Woolsey nice,” Rodney sneered at the note on the bottle before he ripped the foil off the top. “Not nice enough not to disrupt weeks of work.” 

“McKay,” John said. “Are you actually attempting to steal an injured man’s champagne?” 

Rodney paused. “No?” he suggested. “You pretty much dove face-first into that ditch. Kind of your fault. It’s a wonder you didn’t sprain your head.” 

Maybe John had sprained his head, because he suddenly felt overcome by a wave of gratitude that Rodney McKay, the one other person in the entire city who could’ve lived happily in a closet, had been moved in next door and somehow knew where all the secret panels were already. “Tell you what. Half that bottle is yours if you bring us back dinner.” 

Rodney popped the cork. It hit the ceiling and whistled past John’s ear on its way across the room. “You drive a hard bargain, Sheppard.” 

*****

John gave Rodney more than his half of the bottle. They ate from trays in their laps on the matching gray couches in John’s quarters. Lasagna night was usually pretty good. Tonight, though, the food settled like a weight in his stomach. 

“You know, in theory? I am the city’s most brilliant scientist and it makes sense that I should have the best quarters. A little recognition, a reward.” Chewing never stopped Rodney from talking. 

Not for the first time, John didn’t mind. Rodney chattering meant things were okay. And anything to fill up all the empty space. “Clearly they just put me up here to protect you.” 

Rodney waved his fork. “Please, you couldn’t stop a kitten from attacking the city right now.”

“Why would a kitten attack the city?” 

“I don’t know, but if anyone finds a cat, please give her to me. I now have the space,” Rodney answered. 

“I don’t want the space. Look at all these windows.” John didn’t turn his head. He faced the bleak, blank wall shared with the front door. He bet in the morning, the sunshine would turn the whole place gorgeous and golden and _ugh_. “Anyone can see right in. It’s a security risk.” 

“You can’t shut the blinds?” 

“What blinds?” 

Rodney closed his eyes. 

Behind them, there came a barely-perceptible hiss of pressure. The light in the room went darker.

John twisted around on the couch. 

The windows had gone opaque. John could no longer see the city’s lights below reflecting up and onto the ceiling. He felt better. “Huh,” John said. “Good trick. Rodney. How is it you know where everything is?”

“I was on the team that cleared it. We looked up the plans for the whole tower. I may have explored a few of the features. And, um, now that I think about it? I may have been the one that sealed our fates,” Rodney said, poking morosely at his lasagna.

“What are you talking about?”

“At the time, I may have mentioned to the Major that these were probably the best quarters in the entire city. Or that we’ve discovered so far, anyway. I’m fairly certain this place was some kind of luxury hotel.”

“That’s why it’s got adjoining room access?” John asked.

“Yes. Well, after I said they were the best quarters, I may have also said that he’d have a fight for them on his hands, that even I’d want to move into quarters as nice as these.” He glanced over at John. “That even the Colonel would want one of them.” 

John chewed on a mouthful of lasagna and contemplated murder. 

“It’s just that you’re kind of famous for not moving. I hadn’t moved because I knew there’d be weeks of dis-organization to undo—I mean at least let me be here to oversee the process,” Rodney huffed. “It was only supposed to be a joke.” 

“Great joke, McKay,” John said.

“Oh, come on. Like this is the worst thing I’ve ever done to us,” Rodney said. “Accidentally land us the penthouse suites.” 

“They’re further from the transporters, they’re more exposed, and they’ve got steps.” John stuck his ankle out further. “This is a horrible place to recover. In my old quarters, you could practically lean out of the bed and you’d be in the bathroom.” 

“Please. You twisted your ankle. Call me when you’ve been shot in the ass.”

“Are we comparing wounds?” John asked. Because he could barely detect the echoes of the Iratus bug’s scars on his skin now, but he remembered it like it had happened yesterday.

“No. You know what it is? It’s not the ankle.” Rodney scooped up his last bite of lasagna. “You hate change and special treatment.”

“I hate being singled out, moved without being told, and people touching my stuff,” John said. “They could’ve waited until we got back.”

“They knew we’d block it,” Rodney said. “Major Machiavelli planned it so we’d be gone, so there was nothing we could do to stop it. And just so we couldn’t wriggle out of it later on, he gave us the very best places in the city. Places we cannot complain about without looking like a couple of entitled jerks.” 

John hunched down on the couch. He made his voice reedier, whinier. “Major Lorne, there’s too much sunshine in my penthouse at dawn.” 

Rodney affected a petulant tone. “Major, it’s such a long walk between my bathtub and my shower.” 

“Major, I can only fit two vintage Cadillacs in my living room.” 

“Major, I keep getting vertigo looking down on all the little people in the city from here.”

John smirked. “My water pressure is too good, it stings my delicate skin.”

“My mattress is too comfortable. I have to sleep all day now,” Rodney said, sticking out his lower lip.

“I need more clothes to fill up all the space in my closet.” 

“What good is space for an espresso maker without an espresso maker? Major, where is my espresso maker?” Rodney laughed and dropped the whine. “What if we just leaned into it?”

“Being entitled jerks?”

“Half the city already thinks I am one. What if we just started demanding all sorts of special treatment?” 

John leaned back and let himself dream for a minute about how convenient it would be to snap his fingers and have everything brought to him. “Lorne would eventually stage a coup.” 

“He’d fall in line like the rest of them,” Rodney said.

John tilted his head. He had trouble picturing Rodney as the despotic emperor of Atlantis. 

Rodney sat cross-legged on the nearby couch, his tray in his lap, a small smear of marinara left on his chin. He’d changed into a pair of soft-looking lounge pants and a gray t-shirt after the mission. He’d been working hard with Ronon and Teyla. Not that it had made a difference in the slight softness at his midsection, but John could see it in his shoulders. 

John remembered the day he’d said goodbye to Rodney McKay and his fiancée. How he’d hugged him and allowed himself to hold on a little too tightly for a second too long. He remembered the city departing for its return voyage to the Pegasus galaxy and feeling like a piece of him had been left behind. John also remember the day months later when, during a routine Daedalus arrival, Rodney had walked out of the ship and back into the city alone. 

He’d never asked Rodney for details. The phrase _we called it off_ was pretty clear. Whenever Jennifer Keller’s name came up, Rodney got this downcast, haunted look. A look John hated seeing on him. 

“Do you want your cherry cobbler?” Rodney asked through a mouthful of his own. 

John wasn’t hungry, but hugged his tray closer. “Yes, McKay. I do plan on eating my own dessert, now that you’ve drunk all of my champagne.” 

“The bottle was tiny.” Rodney concentrated on licking the rest of the cherry off his spoon. 

John noticed the smooth slide of his tongue against the silverware.

Once finished, Rodney’s focus went back to John’s tray. “You sure you’re going to eat that?” 

John felt full and oddly warm. “I don’t know. Maybe if you had something to trade…”

Rodney considered. “I don’t have an espresso machine. But I do have a coffee maker. Come tomorrow morning—”

“Sold. One piece of cherry cobbler to the man with the caffeine.” John passed the tray over. 

Rodney tucked right in. “You have to let me make it, though. I’m the only one who does it right.” 

“Get up at a decent hour and I’ll gladly let you make it.” John glanced over at the kitchen counter that’d popped out of the wall. He’d get up and check it out, eventually. “You sure the Ancients didn’t build coffee makers into these places?” 

“Unfortunately no. For a mighty Ascended super race, they were backward.”

Later that night after Rodney went back to his own quarters, John took a painkiller and laid in his big, soft, unfamiliar bed. But he couldn’t sleep, even as the medicine dulled the ache in his ankle. After a while, he padded back out to the living room. 

Which was when he realized he hadn’t closed the adjoining doors, and neither had Rodney. 

John hung back in the shadows of his darkened quarters. Through the doorway, he could see that Rodney had a light on near his desks—he had two pushed together—and his computer monitors bathed him in a blue glow as he worked. Light from the city below added to the show. 

John limped over to the couch and sat down. Then he laid down and listened to the soft tapping of keys and Rodney’s muttered cursing. 

It was better than counting sheep, John thought, right before he dozed off. 

*****

“I told you to let me make the coffee!” Rodney squawked from his quarters. “…Oh. Oh, this is actually kind of…” Rodney appeared in the doorway in a well-worn bathrobe. He raised a mug. “Sheppard.”

John raised his. “McKay.” He made it through three entire pages of War and Peace before Rodney reappeared in the doorway. 

“Just how early do you get up, anyway?” 

“Early.” John had experimented with reducing and increasing the opacity of the windows. He’d been right in that full-strength early morning sunlight was a little much, but maybe a little bit of sunshine wasn’t so bad. “Not like I can go for a run, though.” 

“I guess you could go for a wheel,” Rodney said. 

“I’m going down to the infirmary before breakfast, make them give me a set of crutches. I may be on light duty, but I can still get myself around. And I’d rather do it standing.” John adjusted his foot on the pillow he’d added to the couch. His ankle felt slightly less swollen today. Maybe Dr. Sherri had a point about staying off it.

“So you’ll be at the briefing today at ten?” Rodney asked. 

“See you there,” John said. He glanced up. 

Rodney drank coffee and stared at a tablet. He’d been interrupted by whatever was on his device in the middle of putting on his jacket, though, so while he’d gotten an arm through one sleeve, the other hung off him. 

“Rodney.” 

“Hmm?” 

“Put your jacket on.” 

“Hm? Oh.” He did, raised his coffee mug in a salute, and wandered back into his quarters. A minute later, what must’ve been Rodney’s front door whooshed open and closed. 

John shut War and Peace. He got up and limped over to the doorway. Rodney had left about half an inch of coffee in the bottom of the pot, which John took and sipped while he surveyed the other penthouse. 

Rodney had far more stuff than he did, but at least half of it could’ve been sent down to the labs. Much of it looked like books, papers, and scavenged tech. John spotted his diplomas arranged in a grid on the wall. On Rodney’s smaller balcony, there was a telescope. His quarters had two separate bedrooms bookending the balcony as opposed to John’s big one. They were both smaller than John’s bedroom, though, and so were the beds. 

Only when John stood in Rodney’s closet noting that he also had more clothes than John did, did the thought that he shouldn’t be doing this cross his mind. John considered how he’d feel if Rodney decided to snoop around his quarters. 

But it was Rodney. They’d been inside each other’s quarters before. Hell, they’d been inside each other’s nightmares before. And in John’s defense, Rodney hadn’t closed the adjoining door. 

Rodney’s bathroom was smaller than his, too.

*****

John didn’t arrive at the day’s briefing on crutches. He arrived on the knee scooter. 

“What the hell is that thing?” Rodney asked. 

Okay, so the scooter with the raised bed looked more like a tricycle than a skateboard and had chunky wheels not built for speed. But when John rested his knee on its padded cushion, he could take the weight off his bad ankle while he used his good foot to propel him forward. If he really pushed, he could get it moving at a good clip. “I might paint flames on the side. Jealous?”

Rodney shook his head. 

Teyla grinned at him. “I am glad you are feeling better, Colonel.”

Ronon flashed teeth. “Did you get the Doc to check your eyes while you were in the infirmary?”

John made a face. “That ditch was practically invisible.” 

Woolsey interrupted them. “Ladies and Gentlemen, if you’d be so kind as to turn your attention to our current trade proposals?”

John was temporarily grounded, so it was decided it was a good time for Rodney to focus on some of the lab’s recent discoveries while Teyla and Ronon checked in on some of their current trade relationships. Both Teyla’s and Woolsey’s eyes gleamed while they discussed the prospect of more and better beans and herbs. 

John exchanged long-suffering glances with Rodney and Ronon. 

When the meeting was over, Woolsey said, “Colonel? A word.” 

When they were alone, Woolsey folded his hands. “I may be called away from my post here in the near future.”

John could only blink at him. “Sir? What? When did this happen?” 

Woolsey sagged back into his chair. “It’s been… Colonel, sometimes there are circumstances beyond our control.”

“Is it the IOA?” John asked. “What are they unhappy with now?” 

“It’s…” Woolsey sighed. He removed his glasses and polished the lenses. “Not that they are unhappy. Rather that—circumstances—may require us to reallocate resources. I hope that isn’t the case, but if it is? Colonel, I want you to know that I intend to put forth your name to the committee.” 

John’s eyes couldn’t get wider. “Mine? To do what?”

“Become the next leader of Atlantis.” 

John had a decent poker face, but a hint of his horror must’ve shone through. 

Woolsey’s brow furrowed. “You are… not pleased?” 

“It’s not that I don’t think I’d be up to the job. It’s just that—” John paused. “All the diplomacy and bureaucracy. Teyla would be a way better choice than I would.” 

“She’s not from Earth,” Woolsey said. 

“Well, what about Rodney?” John asked. 

“Doctor McKay is a brilliant man with a temperament entirely unsuited to running a city.” 

John felt a little hurt on Rodney’s behalf. “Well, hey, now—Rodney can surprise you.” 

Woolsey’s index finger tapped the briefing room table. “I have seen great courage and bravery from Doctor McKay. And if I were in some type of technological peril, he would be the first on my list of prospective rescuers. But I would never recommend him for this job.”

John nodded. “Major Lorne—”

“He’s a Major,” Woolsey said. 

“He’d be better at the job—”

“Would you like me to choose someone else?” Woolsey asked. 

John’s mouth opened and closed. 

He put his glasses back on and offered John a kind smile. “Think about it.”

“You know I’m only a Lieutenant Colonel, right?” 

“I assume they’d promote you, if they wanted you.” 

John blinked. “To full bird?” 

“You’re qualified. Consider the proposal. Who knows? We might get lucky and the storm may pass by. Or politics may shift and my recommendation may not mean anything. But I wanted to give you a heads-up.” 

“I appreciate it, sir,” John said.

*****

Normally if John had something on his mind, he’d ask to run with Ronon, or let Teyla pummel him with her bantos, or even go hang out in the labs, play light switch, and listen to Rodney shout at his scientists.

Maybe Woolsey had a point about Rodney.

After he’d finished ticking boxes and making jumper and mission assignments that could’ve been just as easily made by flipping a coin, John took the afternoon off. The knee scooter let him zip through hallways faster than a walk. That made it easier to follow up around the city on bulletin board posts about an area rug for sale, a lamp, a PS1 with a box of games, a TV, and a wall projector. John didn’t have much to trade in terms of physical items, but he did have plenty of credit built up with the Atlantis Exchange, which the city had acquired on Earth along with its last large influx of personnel. Most people were happy to trade for it.

Back on Earth, Base Exchanges were like department stores. But Atlantis’ unique remoteness made stock very irregular, which in turn meant runs on in-demand supplies like coffee, tea, chocolate, and of course the latest music and movies once they arrived. After successful trials, the Exchange had begun selling Pegasus galaxy local goods, plus buying from departing Atlantis staff and reselling lightly used items to their newly arrived replacements. John didn’t often bother with it; he was usually busy during its normal opening hours and mostly he preferred to place a Daedalus order and wait. A certain amount of credits, though, came with the job as a perk, and John had transferred some of his salary directly to the balance since the Exchange opened, seeing as how American dollars were less and less useful. 

Now, he laid waste to that balance. They didn’t have coffee, but they did have a very strong local beer. Most of the chocolate was out, but he loaded up on licorice, sugar cookies, and peanuts. He added eight shirts and one of every pair of pants in his size they carried, plus hangers to hang them all up in his giant closet. Shoes, socks, underwear. Two different types of hair gel—John hadn’t met a brand that could keep his hair from defying gravity, but might as well try again. Three huge woven Athosian blankets – one for the bed, one for each couch. One for Rodney? He pointed to a bright blue one. “Better make it four.” 

At that point, John probably should have stopped. But upon confirming that yes, they would help him bring it all up, he bought a scratched coffee table, two paintings, towels, a set of dishware, golf balls, a tennis racket, a Magic 8 ball, a DVD player—

“Colonel Sheppard, sir?” the petite female marine who’d been tallying up his purchases, Rogers, piped up. “With all due respect, sir?” 

John wondered if Major Lorne had gotten to them all. He tried to guess what it was this time. “I should probably give it a rest?” 

She smiled. “We are open tomorrow, sir, if you forgot anything.” 

John nodded. “It’s time to ice my ankle anyway.” 

*****

Rodney didn’t get home until around 8. John knew because while he’d been accepting deliveries and offers of help setting up his possibly manic amount of purchases, he’d kept the adjoining door closed. After everyone had gone, he’d thought the door back open and left Rodney’s blanket on his couch. 

“What is this? Why is there a—dear lord, Sheppard, what happened?” 

John had found the local brew was better when sipped through a licorice straw. He took another pull of licorice-flavored beer and gestured at his setup with his free hand. He swallowed. “I didn’t have any stuff.” It came out whinier than he meant to be. “So I bought some. You want a beer?” 

Rodney frowned at him from the doorway, where he held the blue blanket. “Well, yes, but—”

“Do you want to play Tekken?” 

“Well. Yes. But—”

“That’s your blanket. I got it for you.” John said. He shifted his ankle where he’d propped it on the pillow with an ice pack. He couldn’t feel very much of it. Of anything, actually. He might be a little bit drunk, he thought. “It’s blue, because you have blue eyes.” 

“Oh,” Rodney said. 

John levered himself up off the couch and put Tekken into the PS1. Longer cords would come in handy. The TV lived on the coffee table for now, since he hadn’t thought about an entertainment center. He turned on the system and checked both controllers before he limped back to the couch. 

Rodney stood there, blanket clutched in his hands. 

“You okay?” John asked.

“Yes.” Rodney cleared his throat. “Yes. Thank you. For this. I will be right back.” 

“Hurry up! I will start without you,” John warned him.

When Rodney returned, he trounced John repeatedly. Best of three, best of five, best of seven, best of John stopped counting. 

John dropped the controller. It was hard to stay upright. He found himself listing toward Rodney. “You’re a dirty button-masher, McKay.”

“Ha! Says the loser.”

“Hey. I’m an injured loser.” 

“Does that mean destroy you harder? Because, bad news, I am about to beat you again.” 

“No.” John’s head hit Rodney’s arm. “You can play if you want. I’m out.” 

“That’s okay. I do need to get some sleep tonight. But this was, um, fun.”

“I have more games,” John said into the sleeve of Rodney’s jacket. 

“I’m sure you do.” He was quiet. “Hey, are you okay?” 

John sighed into Rodney’s sleeve. He smelled good. Like soap and Rodney. John’s head felt heavy. “Promise you won’t tell Woolsey I told you.”

“I—yes. Promise.”

“He might be leaving. And if he goes, he thinks I should be in charge.” 

“…And you don’t want to be?”

“I don’t know.” John shifted so he could talk, but instead he found himself leaning over again until his head rested on Rodney’s leg. “You know that thing? Where everybody thinks you’re some great guy? But you’re just a guy.” 

“Are you talking about Imposter Syndrome?”

“That’s it, Rodney. You’re smart.” John patted the thigh under his head. “I’m just a guy.” 

“You’re a drunk guy.” 

John nodded against Rodney’s thigh. “It’s all true.” 

“You know there are probably worse guys to have in charge. I’ve had some spectacularly bad bosses. Did I ever tell you about Stanislovovich, in Siberia? Because that idiot—” Rodney went on for several minutes. 

John quit paying attention pretty quickly, though. Because as he lay there, Rodney’s fingertips ever-so-lightly touched John’s temple and began tracing lazy circles through his hair. John let his eyes close and just felt, luxuriating in the rhythmic press of the pads of Rodney’s fingers. After a while, he’d switch to the firm scratch of fingernails. Those sent shivers down his spine and lit up nerve endings John had forgotten about. Just when he had to bite his lip to hold back a moan, Rodney went back to the soft slide of fingertips against John’s scalp. He felt a weird envy for the cats Rodney had mentioned owning. John bet they used to get this treatment all the time. He didn’t want Rodney to stop, ever. 

But John knew he had to. Drunk as he was, the touching woke up inconvenient parts of his body. And he didn’t think he was currently capable of convincing Rodney that he just really, really liked Tekken. 

“…What I’m saying is, even if you’re just a guy? You’re a pretty decent guy.”

With all the effort left in him, John sat up. “I should—get to bed.” 

“Do you need a hand? Don’t hurt your ankle.” 

John waved him off. “Nope. I’m fine. G’night.” He stagger-limped around the couch, up the three steps, and made it into his room and into the big bed. 

“Goodnight,” Rodney called. 

*****

“You know this is my coffee maker and my coffee,” Rodney said from the doorway.

“I know.” John took a slow, careful sip of the piping-hot coffee in his mug. “I needed it for my hangover.” Between it and the ibuprofen, he was almost feeling human again. 

“Your shopping hangover, more like. But it is a really nice blanket.” 

John looked up from his book. 

Rodney clutched the deep blue woven blanket around him like a robe. “So I guess I can let this morning slide,” he said, and wandered off. 

“Thanks, Rodney,” John called after him. 

Some time later, uniformed Rodney stuck his head in. “We should do a movie night.”

“Sure. That’s why I bought the projector.” 

“You have a projector?”

“Yep. You want to hook it up?” John asked. 

“I guess I have a few minutes right now,” Rodney said. 

“I didn’t mean do it now.” 

“I’m a busy man, Sheppard. Take me now or take me never.” Rodney found the box with the projector and began unpacking it. 

John couldn’t read another page. He shut the book. “I’m gonna go grab a shower.” 

“After I do this I’m going to breakfast, if you want to come,” Rodney said. 

John took a long, slow breath before responding. “Sounds good.” 

*****

The amazing water pressure made his showers feel like a massage. 

Not like a scalp massage. Not like Rodney’s fingers stroking over his skin, touching him everywhere. 

John kept one hand against the shower wall for balance. He started out just soaping up, but soon his cock was hard. John tugged, teased, stroked, thought of Rodney’s pink tongue and lips, and came in almost no time at all. 

Okay. The Rodney Thing. Not something that needed to come roaring back, John told his body. And it probably hadn’t. Just that they’d been spending so much time together. John hadn’t been getting a lot of touch lately. And that impromptu scalp massage. While drunk, no less. It must’ve overwhelmed him. Everything was fine. Rodney was still the straightest, most oblivious man in two galaxies, and John was still his team leader and best friend and now neighbor and okay, he’d already been through the whole tamping-down-feelings business, for his dumb crush to come back now would be the absolute worst timing ever.

John finished his shower with grim efficiency. 

*****

Teyla spread herself out on a couch underneath one of John’s new blankets. She closed her eyes. “Listen.” 

John, Ronon, and Rodney exchanged glances. 

“I do not hear any children.” Teyla opened her eyes, laughed, and burrowed further under the blanket. 

“Rough week with the kids?” John asked. 

“They are my treasures. But loud. This is exquisite, John.” 

“Yeah, those blankets are really nice,” Rodney said. 

“I meant the entire place, but yes, Athosian weaving is among the finest in the galaxy,” Teyla replied. “These quarters are extraordinary.” 

John ducked his head. He felt a little proud. The rug he’d purchased turned out to sort of go with the pair of blankets he’d left on the couch. And the paintings looked nice interrupting the bare expanses of his walls. One of them was of an old wooden Clipper ship, the other a muted scene of wildflowers. They did clash a little with Johnny Cash. But overall he thought it all gave the impression that a person with stuff lived here. “They mostly gave them to us to keep people from fighting over them.” 

“I wouldn’t take them,” Ronon said. “There’s two ways out of this tower: the transporter and emergency stairs. You can have your escape cut off too easily.” 

“It’s not as if the tower is strategically important,” John said.

“Except now you and McKay are here,” Ronon answered.

“Right.” John hadn’t thought about that. 

“I’m just messing with you, Sheppard.” Ronon punched him lightly in the shoulder.

Lightly for Ronon, anyway. “Hey, watch it. I’m a wounded man.” 

“Whatever, we’ve all seen you kneeboarding down the halls by now,” Ronon said. 

“You really should check out the view. It’s amazing,” Rodney said. 

They all piled onto John’s balcony and Ronon and Teyla appropriately ooh’ed and ahh’ed. Well, Teyla did. Ronon grunted. 

“Shall we see your quarters, Rodney?” Teyla asked. 

They used the front doors to go from one suite to the other. By some unspoken agreement, he and Rodney had closed the adjoining doors. Even though if anyone on Atlantis would’ve understood them being open, it would’ve been Ronon and Teyla. The four of them had spent more than one overly-cozy night together in yurts, tents, caves—heck, even the occasional prison cell. 

Rodney’s work had expanded further to fill a large portion of his living room space. “I had an idea of using the second bedroom as an office, but it’s so much nicer to let my ideas breathe, you know?” 

Teyla nodded like she did. 

“She’s such a good listener,” John whispered to Ronon. “It’s kind of scary.” 

Rodney had whiteboards and where those failed, paper taped to the big, white walls. His couch was covered in books, journals, and electronics, but left enough space to sit or lie down. His desks and multiple-monitor computer setup were pretty nice, though. “I might change it all around later, of course. We’re still getting settled.” 

They adjourned back to John’s quarters for _The Fast & The Furious._ One couch was big enough to hold them all, and both blankets were drafted into service in spite of the fact that it wasn’t cold. 

“Which ones are fast and which ones are furious?” Rodney asked, settling in next to John on one end. 

“I hope they’re all fast. Movie included,” Ronon said from the other end of the couch. 

John dug into a bowl of peanuts. “You gotta forgive us for Lawrence of Arabia, buddy.” 

Teyla broke into a bag of licorice. “That movie was so beautiful and so, so long.” 

Rodney took a handful of peanuts from John’s bowl. “It’s a classic.” 

“That why you fell asleep?” Ronon asked. 

“Oh excuse me if saving the galaxy tuckers me out sometimes—”

“Shh.” John traded Teyla the peanuts for the licorice. “I want to see who’s furious.” 

Everyone was, and fast, too. 

“Do you think I’d look good bald?” Ronon asked.

They looked at him. 

John shrugged. “Keep the facial hair.” 

“No,” said Teyla.

“You don’t choose the bald lifestyle. The bald chooses you,” said Rodney.

Teyla cracked open a peanut shell. “You are hardly bald.” 

“Not yet.” 

“Anyhow, perhaps Ronon should be asking Amelia her opinion,” Teyla said.

Ronon smirked down at his bowl of peanuts.

Cars raced. Tempers flared. John’s ankle started to ache. He’d gotten used to keeping it propped up. He shifted to try and find a more comfortable position. After a couple of minutes, that wasn’t working either.

“Oh, come on, Colonel Brain Damage.” Rodney reached underneath the blanket, picked up John’s booted foot, and laid it across his lap. He tucked the blanket back around them and everyone carried on watching the movie. 

Propped up, John’s ankle didn’t hurt anymore. Teyla gasped at a car crash. Ronon shook his head and critiqued a fight. Rodney rolled his eyes and complained about the movie violating the laws of physics. 

John thought about how, for the second consecutive day, part of him had ended up in Rodney’s lap. He thought about how it would feel if he hadn’t been wearing the boot. Would his ankle feel too sore to be touched? Or would Rodney handle him carefully? 

There were betrayals! Revelations! And more car chases. 

John couldn’t feel a damn thing through the damn boot, even though Rodney’s hand rested on top of it. If John weren’t wearing it, Rodney might start absently touching, scratching, stroking—

Ronon broke into sincere applause. As the credits rolled, he stood up and continued applauding. 

“Really?” Rodney asked. “You’re giving a standing ovation to that—that piece of—okay, it was all right,” he conceded. 

“Best one I’ve seen lately.” 

“It is my turn to pick next time,” Teyla announced. 

John nudged her with an elbow. “Any hints?” 

“I prefer it to be a surprise,” Teyla said. 

“Oh, it will be,” said Rodney. 

He was right. Teyla’s taste in film could be confusingly inconsistent. She loved _Singin’ In The Rain_ almost as much as she loved _Predator_. But she also dismissed _The Princess Bride_ as ‘for children’ and had pronounced Indiana Jones ‘a charmless robber of graves.’ Which had prompted a heated discussion over their own retrieval of Ancient technology. After that, she’d refused to watch any more Harrison Ford movies until they’d won her back over with _The Fugitive_. But John was pretty sure they owed that one to Tommy Lee Jones. “Just tell me this one’s in color?” 

“I make no promises.” Teyla untucked herself. “And I must get home.” 

“Me, too. See you guys tomorrow?” Ronon asked. 

Rodney levered John’s foot off his lap and stood. 

Teyla touched her forehead to Rodney’s. 

John got up, and she repeated the gesture. An Athosian hug, he liked to think of it. 

“Thank you for inviting us over. Your new homes are lovely.” 

“Nice place,” Ronon agreed. “Think I might stop by Major Lorne’s office and see what else is available.” 

“Is the rest of the tower open?” John asked Rodney. 

Rodney shrugged. “What am I, Century 21?” 

John thought of Major Lorne squirming as Ronon loomed over him. “Definitely talk to Lorne.” 

Ronon and Teyla said goodbye and left.

Rodney helped him pick up peanut shells. “You know, sometimes when I would get down on myself about being allergic to citrus I’d think ‘at least you’re not allergic to peanuts.’ Because what is life without peanut butter?” 

John felt like he’d had enough peanuts for about a month. “I could work around it. A nice, frosty glass of lemonade on a hot day, though?” 

“Oh, yes, I suppose you had a lemonade stand as a child. I suppose you and lemonade have a deep, personal relationship.” 

“I do like a nice lemon chicken.” 

“Just so long as you keep the citrus quarantined here and don’t contaminate my coffee, we should be fine.” 

It was wild how many peanut shells even a small bag produced. John shook out Teyla and Ronon’s blanket and another shower of them hit the floor. 

“Next thing you need to buy is a vacuum.” Rodney helped him pick them up, then stood and wiped his hands on his pants. “I imagine you’ll want to get to bed early?” 

“Do I hear a challenge?” John asked. 

Rodney beat him at Tekken three more times. 

“You can’t just hit the buttons. It’s not fair,” John tried to explain.

“If mashing all the buttons works? I’m going to mash all the buttons.” 

“Okay. We’re officially retiring this.” John found something else in the box of games. “Need For Speed 3?” 

“More meatheads racing cars?” Rodney asked. 

“Don’t pretend you didn’t like the movie.” 

“It was fine. But Vin Diesel is not the next Peter O’Toole.” 

John beat Rodney hands-down on the first track. 

“Of course you’re better when there’s a vehicle exceeding safe speed limits,” Rodney said. But he hung in for two more games, and on the last one John just barely edged him out to finish first. “Okay. That’s it for me.” 

“Don’t be a sore loser,” John said.

“I’m a tired loser. And don’t think I won’t be back to trounce you tomorrow.” Rodney put a hand on John’s shoulder and used it to help lever himself up off John’s couch. He headed for his place. “Oh hey, would you open your inside door?” 

John thought it open. He was getting up himself when Rodney spoke. 

“The doors.” He cleared his throat. “Is it…” Rodney turned around. “I don’t really care. I’ve just been leaving mine open. But look. I know I’m a hard person to live with. Even if we’re not really—I mean we’re just neighbors, but—”

“Hey, Rodney?” 

Rodney stilled. “Yeah?” 

The truth? John liked the doors open. He’d slept over a thousand nights alone peacefully in his cozy old quarters, but the bigness and openness of the penthouses? Made him feel unsettled. He liked knowing Rodney was right through the doorway. And okay, maybe a small part of it was because Rodney had left, and because that time on Atlantis hadn’t been so great, and John had missed him in a hundred big and small ways. Ways that were about friendship, and family, and only a tiny little bit about deeper feelings that didn’t matter anyway. “These places are so big, I barely noticed. How about—if I want some privacy, I’ll close my door. And if you want some privacy, you’ll close your door? Sound good?”

“Oh. Yes. It does. Sounds fair.” His laugh sounded nervous. Rodney rocked back on his heels. He wore a pair of gray lounge pants, a nearly matching t-shirt, and white cotton crew socks, one with a hole in the big toe. 

Seeing Rodney out of his uniform—not _out_ of his uniform—but in his sweats and casual clothes, was still a little odd to John, though. It felt weirdly intimate. “Since we’re talking about the doors…”

Rodney nodded. “Keeping them closed while other people are here?” 

“Might be a good idea.” 

“You’re right. Not that I care,” Rodney said.

“Oh, yeah. I don’t care,” John said.

“But somebody else might. And a member of your uptight military might have a problem with it—”

“Which is rich, because have you ever been in a barracks? You can’t move without being in some other guy’s space.” 

“It’s pointlessly macho and insecure how some people react to two grown men being friends,” Rodney agreed. “I mean I’ve had plenty of relationships with women and witnesses to them, and you’re Kirking it up all across the galaxy—”

John rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay.” He folded the first blanket. 

“But I wouldn’t want any rumors to stand in the way of you becoming the man in charge around here,” Rodney said. 

John paused. He squared the blanket’s corners. “Have you heard anything?” 

“About you being the next leader of Atlantis? No, you told me that and you swore me to secrecy.” 

“Not that. Any rumors,” John said. He didn’t quite look at Rodney. 

Rodney paused. 

Now John looked. He felt a chill. “What?” 

Rodney’s mouth curled into a grin. “Believe it or not, there is a very popular conspiracy theory that you are, in fact, an Ancient planted here to spy on the expedition.”

“What?” John blinked. He put the folded blanket down and picked up the second. “You’re making that up.”

“I am not. I have been asked personally to confirm it. I did not.” 

“Oh. Well, good.” John folded the second blanket. “I’d hate for you to blow my cover this late in the game.” 

Rodney laughed. Then he stopped. “You are joking, right?” 

John raised an eyebrow at Rodney. “Am I?” 

Rodney wasn’t fooled. He shook his head. “All right. I’m tired. See you tomorrow, Sheppard.” 

“You know you can call me John, right?” he called after him.

“Good night, Secret Ancient Man,” Rodney called back as he disappeared through the doorway.


	2. Desperado

Early the next morning, John opted to see how fast the knee scooter could fly through the halls. Pretty fast, it turned out. Of course it wasn’t the same workout as getting a run in, especially not a Ronon-level run, but by the time he was starting to see people appearing in the hallways, John had worked up quite a sweat. 

He zipped back to his quarters and through the door. 

Rodney, hair rumpled, swathed from the neck down in his blue blanket, drank coffee on John’s couch while typing on his laptop. “Morning.”

John only hesitated a second. “Morning. Is there coffee?” 

Rodney’s mug gestured toward his quarters. 

John scootered over to the doorway. 

On a tarp in the middle of his living room, Rodney had partially dismantled three drones and what looked like the Ancient version of a diesel engine. 

John propped the scooter against the wall and poured himself some coffee. He went back into his quarters to his kitchenette, where he found a few remaining sugar cookies. He dunked one in the coffee. “Say, Rodney?”

The blue lump on the couch grunted. 

“You’re not planning on blowing up the city, are you?” 

“Ngh,” Rodney said. He cleared his throat. “I had some inspiration at three-thirty last night. I’m building EMP drones.” 

“Huh.” John dunked his cookie. “Are we in danger of an imminent Replicator attack?” They’d been pretty quiet. 

“By our luck, we’re overdue for a few rounds with an army of tiny killer robots,” said Rodney. He frowned at the laptop. “I had this dream that a giant version of Elizabeth that looked kind of like Mecha-Godzilla was smashing down towers in the city. Woke up with a new design in mind. The theory is pretty solid. We might be able to test them next week if the prototypes work out.” 

“Good. Let me know when,” said John. 

“You’re on light duty.” 

“Lucky for you, sitting in a command chair does not require the use of both ankles.”

“You mean lucky for you,” Rodney said from somewhere in his blanket cocoon. “You’ve got to be going stir crazy by now.” 

He wasn’t wrong. “A little. I’ll see what Major Lorne’s got on the docket. Maybe there’s more than paperwork I can take care of today. I’m getting around fine. That little scooter thing is pretty fast.” John headed up to the bedroom with his coffee. Before he went in, he stopped. “Hey, just so we’re clear—no drones in my quarters, okay?” 

“Fine, fine,” the blue lump replied. 

In the bathroom, John turned on the shower and stripped down. Out of its brace and boot, his ankle looked pretty good. Still puffier than normal, but nowhere near where it had been after the injury. John put a little weight on it. “Ow.” A sharp twinge warned him not to push it. He hopped into the shower on his good foot. 

“Oh, um, hey? Are you okay?” Rodney called. 

John panicked. His instinct was to grab a towel, which was just out of reach, which was why he slipped and fell onto his ass in the shower, bumped his bad ankle, yelped in pain—and that’s when Rodney poked his head into the bathroom. 

Later, after John had finished his shower, dressed himself, re-booted his ankle, and scraped up the remains of his dignity, he thought about Rodney catching him naked and about how, if it hadn’t been so humiliating, it would actually have been kind of funny. Maybe even a little bit hot.

No, not hot. John wasn’t going to think about that again.

Later on at dinner in the mess hall, John—who was getting really good at balancing trays while using his knee scooter, see, he did have some coordination—sat down at their usual team table diagonally from Rodney. 

For a split-second his eyes met John’s. Then Rodney ducked his head and turned as red as a tomato. 

“Are you not feeling well, Rodney?” Teyla asked. 

“I’m fine,” Rodney said, like he wasn’t at all.

John started laughing out of nowhere halfway through dinner. 

“Oh, come on,” Rodney said. “It was an accident!” 

John laughed harder. 

Teyla and Ronon looked at them like they were crazy. 

“You had to have been there,” Rodney said. 

John spotted it the moment Rodney’s annoyance softened. They walked—well, walked and scootered—back to the tower together after dinner. 

While John played Tetris on the PS1, Rodney sat next to him and worked on his laptop. He sat close enough to be able to nudge John with his elbow and have him yea or nay formulas Rodney was working on. After his third game, John found himself humming _Desperado_. Then they both were. 

“…out riding fences, for so long now…” John sang. Not that he could sing very well. The tune more faded away than came to an end.

“You want some music on?” Rodney asked. 

He’d turned the Russian-inspired soundtrack of the game off. “Nah, I’m okay. You?”

“I’m good. Never been one of those ‘noise while I’m working’ people. Actually, music is particularly distracting because I start thinking about how to play it. I used to be a pretty good pianist as a kid,” Rodney reminded him. 

John remembered. “You want me to stop humming?” 

“No, that song doesn’t bother me. More of a guitar song,” Rodney said.

John paused the game. “Desperado is played on the piano.” 

“No, it isn’t.” 

“It definitely is, Rodney.” 

“It definitely is not, John.” 

The game and formulas were put on hold so that they could dig through John’s laptop and find the song. 

John raised his arms in a V for victory as the plunk of the piano began. 

“I think this must be a B-side,” Rodney said. 

“I have had to listen to a lot of the Eagles. And the covers,” John insisted. “It’s always a piano.” 

“It’s practically a country song!” 

“They had pianos in the country,” John said, and looked up from the laptop to find Rodney’s face very close to his. 

Rodney was gazing somewhere in the distance, though. “It’s kind of a sad one, huh?” 

“I mean, yeah.” The music swelled. _Why don’t you come to your senses?_ “But it’s also not hopeless. Like—the guy can still change.” 

“But is he going to?” Rodney asked. 

_Let somebody love you_ , Don Henley crooned mournfully from decades ago and a galaxy away. There was a reason John listened to music by himself, and it was because when the wrong—or the right—song hit him just so, it could feel like the whole of the universe was coming together or falling apart. 

“Oh my God,” Rodney breathed. 

Yeah, John was about to agree. 

“You’re an Eagles fan.”

John hesitated a moment too long.

“You ‘have had to listen’? Nobody makes you listen to the Eagles. You love this,” Rodney said gleefully, almost in a whisper, as if it were John’s most terrible secret.

John’s heart beat fast. It was meant to tease, John knew, but Rodney stood so close. He could smell Rodney: a unique scent made up of coffee, soap, clean sweat, fabric softener, and some strange engine-room earthy quality he couldn’t quite divine. Rodney had the world’s biggest blue eyes, he was sure of it, and up close it was easy to get lost in them and forget how he’d just asked you a question. John liked his mouth, too, the easy way his lips slanted down or up. He didn’t feel the need to keep a lid on things the way John did. Rodney’s words, his face, his hands, even the set of his shoulders let you know just what he thought. John remembered how much time he’d spent imagining what Rodney’s lips would do if John ever got to—oh. He’d missed something. “What did you say?” 

Rodney frowned a little. “It’s okay. You can be an Eagles fan. A lot of people are. It’s a good song.” 

“I know.” John shut his laptop, cutting off the music. “Hey, it’s getting late.” 

Rodney hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. I’m going to get to bed. See you.” 

“See you,” John said. When he was sure Rodney had gone, he thought the adjoining door shut. 

*****

So the Rodney Thing was back.

Part of him argued that it had never really gone away. But when the Wraith or the Replicators or the dozen or other big scary enemies they had threatened to destroy the city, it was easy to push to the back burner. And when Rodney gazed deeply into Katie or Jennifer’s eyes and professed his love of all things female and hot, it was easy for John to remind himself that Rodney was not interested and John should be looking elsewhere, if he felt like looking. 

But then Rodney would stand close to him, or be unexpectedly kind, or do something stupid and heroic, and John’s entire body would shout _him, that one, Rodney McKay, him_. Like the world was a candy store where John could just point and say _I’ll have the genius with the big blue eyes_ and Rodney would be his with a bow on. 

But it wasn’t, he couldn’t, and now that single Rodney lived next door it wasn’t so easy to ignore. 

John stared at the ceiling and waited for sleep, but it didn’t come. He finally dragged himself out of bed, strapped on the stupid boot, and went back out into the living room. 

Rodney’s forgotten blue blanket spilled over the side of his couch. 

“Well, crap,” John muttered. He glanced up at the still-closed door. He hadn’t meant to cut Rodney off. Not like Rodney desperately needed the blanket or anything; surely he’d survive one night without it. 

Just that Rodney liked it. He wore it instead of his robe in the mornings. He’d even told Teyla it was nice. And John had been the one that had gotten it for him. 

It was nearly one-thirty in the morning, when all good little scientists should be in bed. 

John thought the door open. He didn’t hear anything. Only a faint glow shone through the doorway. John grabbed Rodney’s blanket from the couch and crept toward it. He was getting better at walking in the boot; if he stepped carefully, he could be near soundless. 

The paperwork and electronics hoard had spread even further across the living room. It now included several tools, a new lab table, and a second desktop computer setup. Two of the drones were in pieces on the floor. The third was suspiciously intact on the new lab table. 

A sleeping Rodney curled up on top of a book on his couch. A stack of science journals propped up a sleepily blinking laptop near his head. He shifted. 

John froze. 

Rodney mumbled something, swiped at his nose with the back of his hand, and settled down again. 

When he heard Rodney’s deep, even breaths resume, John moved again. He picked his way through the minefield of crisp papers, sharp tools, and stacks of books to where Rodney slept. John spread open the top edge of the blanket and quickly, quietly tucked it around Rodney—

Who blinked up at him. “John?” 

“Sorry, buddy,” he told sleepy-eyed Rodney. “Brought back your blanket.” 

“Okay.” Rodney nodded and closed his eyes, and soon his breathing went back to its deep, even rhythm—the same rhythm John had listened for and fallen asleep to on a dozen different worlds. 

John lingered there for a minute. The boot made almost no noise as he left.

He was so screwed. 

*****

He would just have to get the hell over it, John decided. Keep his head down, appreciate Rodney as a friend and sooner or later, the next Katie or Jennifer would be along and matters would resolve themselves. And as Rodney looked into new woman’s eyes and promised to love her, cherish her, and leave Atlantis behind for her, John would—

“Hey,” Rodney said from the doorway.

“Hey,” John answered. No point in hiding the coffee mug in his hand. “Look—”

Rodney wore the blue blanket draped around his shoulders over a pair of his lounge pants. But no shirt. 

John lost his train of thought. The blanket kept him mostly covered, but as he moved John caught flashes of smooth, pale skin. 

Rodney sat down on the couch. “So I was thinking.” 

“Yeah?” John made himself stop staring. 

“If you’re going to keep drinking the coffee, you’re going to need to contribute to the supply. And none of the instant freeze-dried offal they use in the mess hall.” 

John squinted at him. “You drink that stuff all day long.”

“Yes, but it’s a poor way to start the morning. I’ll email you the brands I like and you can add a couple of bags to your next Daedalus order.” 

“Sounds fair.” 

“Yes.” Rodney nodded. “Well. Sorry about last night. I overstayed my welcome—”

“No, it’s fine—”

“No, it’s not. I do this. I’m good at smothering and interrupting—”

“It’s fine,” John said, confused by the briefest flash of McKay nipple, out of left field coffee-related request, and that Rodney hadn’t started with _what exactly were you doing in my quarters last night?_ Confused, but also pleased.

“You can just tell me to get lost if you want to. I won’t take it personally.” Rodney’s shoulders fell. “Okay, I’ll take it a little personally. But it’s better that than the alternative.” 

“Did Keller—” John blurted. He hadn’t meant to bring her up.

Rodney raised an eyebrow. “Did she what?” 

Crap. “Is she the one who told you that you were hard to live with?” 

“Jennifer? No. She was a saint. I mean, compared to every other person I’ve lived with. All of them told me I was hard to live with. That includes my entire family, even my Great-Aunt Rita, who regularly hosted only the rudest and smelliest of exchange students. Even Jeannie, who can be very demanding herself. Do you know how much Tofurky I’ve had to suffer through?” 

Huh. So Keller hadn’t split with him because of Rodney’s work-half-the-night and computer hoarding habits. “Well, I don’t think you’re hard to live with,” John said. 

“I mean, not that we’re living together—”

“No. Neighbors.” John shrugged. His elbow brushed against Rodney’s through the blue blanket. They both drank from their mugs. 

“How’s the ankle?” 

John lifted his boot up into the air. “Feels better than it did. A little stiff.” 

“Well, if you want later, I have been told I give a good foot massage,” Rodney said. He got up and wandered back to his quarters. 

John’s mouthful of coffee didn’t go down easy. 

*****

Sure, a foot massage. Rodney’s hands squeezing, kneading, finding all the stiff places and soreness and massaging them away. Rodney telling him that he knows what would really help John release some tension. And that’s when he would sink to his knees on the couch in front of John, pull out John’s cock, stroke it, and take it deep into his mouth. 

“Rodney,” John gasped as he pictured it, Rodney pulling back just long enough for his tongue to swirl around the head of John’s cock before he took it back in, sucking him eagerly. Taunting John the way he did when they played games. _You’re not going to come already, are you?_

But he was, he so was, and in his fantasy Rodney swallowed every drop. 

John’s world whited out for a moment. Then he was back in his shower, the fantastic water pressure beating down, alone, one hand braced on the tile. A small pang of guilt struck him, but this morning John decided he’d give himself a pass; massage offers, even platonic foot massage offers, were a lot to deal with. 

At least he had made sure to close his bedroom and bathroom doors this time. 

*****

“Sir.” Major Lorne plunked his breakfast tray down opposite John’s and sat down. 

Usually he would ask if anyone was sitting there, just as a formality. That he didn’t and also didn’t start eating triggered John’s spidey senses. “Major. What’s up?” 

Lorne spoke at his biscuits and gravy. “You would be doing me a big favor if you talked to Ronon.” 

“Really?” John leaned forward. “What’s going on?” 

“He came by and inquired about moving into the tower—where you and Doctor McKay are.” Lorne picked up a biscuit and began shredding it into small pieces. “I said I’d think about it, we do need some more administrative space and it would make sense to divvy up the upper and lower parts of it, since most of the lower half is set up with meeting and conference rooms—”

John chewed a piece of Pegasus bacon. It didn’t taste like it came from a pig, exactly, but it was salty and meaty and close enough for breakfast. “Yeah, that makes sense. What about Ronon?”

“He said all right. Then he came back an hour later and told me he didn’t want to move. Then he came back and said he wanted to move, but needed a place for two people. Then he came back and said cancel it. This morning he sent me two messages, one that said he really wanted to move.”

“And the other said cancel it?” John asked. 

“Yes, sir.” Lorne hesitated. “Also he seemed to get angrier with every request. It’s like I could even feel it through the text on my screen.” 

“Ronon is good at that.” A place for two people? He guessed it had to do with Amelia. “I’ll talk to him. It’ll give me something to do today.”

“You mean aside from the backed up inventory reports?” Lorne asked.

John’s face betrayed nothing. “Two things to do today.” 

“And the—”

“Why don’t you make me a list?” 

“All due respect, sir—”

“I should be the one to figure out what I’m behind on.” John took his last bite of not-bacon and chewed. “Of course, I’d have more time to go talk to Ronon if someone who already knew what I was behind on made me a list.” 

Major Lorne sank a piece of his biscuit in the gravy. “Go talk to Ronon first?” 

“I’ll go right after breakfast,” John promised. 

“I’ll make you a list,” Lorne said.

*****

John and his scooter found Ronon in the gym, which was where Ronon worked out most of his problems. He couldn’t do much with his legs thanks to the ankle, but John grabbed a pair of dumbbells and got in a few curls while he waited. All you had to do with Ronon was give the guy space.

He cracked ten minutes into John’s workout. “I told Amelia I was thinking about moving. She said, ‘Do you want to get a place together?’” 

John switched to seated overhead presses. He didn’t say anything yet. That would’ve been a rookie mistake. 

Ronon continued doing some kind of functional lunging exercise with a heavy bag balanced over one shoulder. After a few more lunges, he dropped the bag. “And I’m all ‘I don’t know. We could.’” He hefted the bag back up over the opposite shoulder and started lunging back. “She got this sad look. So I asked what was wrong, said all right, let’s move in, and she still looked sad. Later she said she didn’t want to. She said she wasn’t sad I didn’t want to move in, she wasn’t sure she was ready, but she was sad because I hadn’t even thought about it.” Ronon shrugged off the bag. It hit the gym floor with a thud. He sat down on the nearest weight bench. “So she doesn’t want to move in with me, and I made her sad because I don’t think about her.” 

For the biggest guy John knew, Ronon looked small. “You guys have been together for a little while now.” 

“Yeah.” Ronon glowered at the heavy bag. “I think about her, okay?”

John nodded. “…Other than this, is it going all right?” 

Ronon shrugged. “Yeah.” 

“So why don’t you move into a place with some space in it, and when she’s ready to—”

“No. If we’re going to move in together, she has to like it.” His voice quieted. “If she doesn’t like it, she might not stay.” 

Sometimes it was easy to forget how young Ronon was. And how spending a few of your years alone and running from the Wraith could set you back even further. “So maybe you wait, huh? Talk about it again. And when you’re ready, you can find a place together?” 

Ronon nodded slowly. He got up and picked up a kettlebell as big as a cannonball. “It all used to be simpler back when there wasn’t going to be a future. Less to think about.” 

“Yeah,” John said. He could sympathize.

“Thanks for the talk, anyway.” Ronon grinned. “Hey, Sheppard, think fast.” He raised the giant kettlebell.

John ducked.

Ronon lowered the kettlebell to the floor. “Don’t worry, I’m not trying to kill you.” 

“I really hope you never are.” 

“You could go heavier on those hammer curls, though,” Ronon said, plucked the weights from John’s hands, and replaced them with the dumbbell equivalent of iron girders. 

“Gee, thanks,” John said. 

*****

John didn’t get back to his quarters until late. His arms felt like Jell-O and his brain felt like mush after he’d tried to handle Major Lorne’s bottomless list of Things John Sheppard Should Be Doing. 

What in the world would he do if they put him in charge? He was barely taking care of basic paperwork.

Luckily there was still a cloudy bottle of the high-test local brew left in his fridge. John opened it and took a long, long pull. 

“Rough day?” Rodney asked. 

John shouldn’t have been startled, but he was, by both the suddenness and the low, late-night pitch of Rodney’s voice. It was the kind of voice you used to ask someone what they were wearing, and why hadn’t they taken it off, and would they like help? Or maybe he just wanted it to be. “Hey,” John said, because he had a wild thought that if he said more, he’d start saying things like _hey, Rodney, I’m beat – how about you throw me onto that big, soft mattress and fuck me until I can’t move?_

“Got any more?” Rodney was right there in his soft-looking lounge pants. 

And why had John never noticed that they had a drawstring? “Last one,” he said. But then he found himself holding out the bottle to Rodney. He watched Rodney take it, watched his throat work as he swallowed, watched his hand on the slick surface of the glass bottle as he passed it back. 

“Thanks,” Rodney said. “I’ll have to see if they have any more in stock.” 

“Maybe we can get Teyla to get us a direct line to the supply.” 

“I’m sure she wants a third job as a bootlegger. Feel like a game?” 

_Feel like a blowjob?_ John thought. “Not tonight. I’m wiped out. You can play something if you want, though.” 

“Really?” Rodney asked. 

“Sure. Keep the music down.” John got up the steps and into the bedroom successfully. He didn’t turn on the lights. The fully opaqued windows didn’t let any light in, so only the glow from the TV as Rodney turned it on and the light from his neighboring quarters lit the way to the bedside. He thought about a shower, but decided he was too tired. Instead he stripped down to his boxers. 

He drank the rest of the beer in the relative dark of the bedroom and chose not to examine whether or not Rodney would care if he knew John was watching him through the doorway. Better this, John thought, than letting all the closeness go to his head and offering to do something stupid. 

Rodney stayed and played Tetris until he’d beaten John’s high score. Then he entered his name at the top of the list, turned off the console, and left. 

John laid back on his bed and slid his hand into his shorts. 

*****

John didn’t have a chance to make any coffee the next morning, because just before dawn the Genii called in begging for help with a reactor on the way to meltdown. 

“It’s the sole reactor powering an outpost they established on another world. The good news? It’s not going to wipe out the Genii home world if we don’t fix it in time. The bad news? It’s going to take out the entire outpost—which holds more people than they can possibly evacuate in time, plus a bunch of experimental tech they probably stole from us—which I might be offended by, except we’re overloaded as it is and if they got some of it to work, I’ll consider us even,” Rodney explained as they hustled to the gate room. 

Where they stopped John. John wasn’t going. Scooters needed hard floors. Crutches and walking boots were slow. And anyway, this was more The McKay and Zelenka Show. 

Teyla grabbed him by the sleeve. She leaned in. “We will be careful.” 

“Good. Keep an eye on each other,” John said. 

The gate dialed. His team vanished along with supporting marines and scientists. 

John went to the mess. Rodney was right; the generic coffee they used sucked. 

Woolsey found him there. “Colonel. May I join you?”

John gestured to the sea of empty chairs. “Be my guest.”

He had coffee, too. Woolsey doctored his with packets of fake sweetener. “This part is the worst part of the job. The waiting. Not knowing if—”

John interrupted. “I know what it’s like not to know.”

“But you’re used to being there. Not sitting and waiting.” Woolsey stirred up the coffee. “It’s so easy to panic. I panicked a lot, at first.” 

“But not anymore, huh?” John’s lip curled. He wondered if Rodney and Radek were being careful enough. He hoped Ronon and Teyla knew enough to only trust the Genii so far. 

“Oh, I still panic. But I only allow myself a certain amount of time. Then I move on to other productive work. Panic is understandable, but it isn’t helpful.” Woolsey peered over the mug at him. “How are the new quarters working out?” 

“They’re fine,” John ground out. He was suddenly gripped by the image of Teyla shaking her head, of going upstairs to those big empty suites and Rodney never joining him there again. “I don’t think I’m cut out to do your job.” 

“I didn’t think I was, either,” Woolsey said. “If you like, I could use your help going over some of the monthly reports before I send them to Earth.” 

John didn’t like. He couldn’t imagine ever liking. But he thought maybe Woolsey was right, and that stewing in his own dread wasn’t helpful. “Sure. Lead the way.” 

They worked for most of the morning, stopping only to eat a quick breakfast of bagels and something like cream cheese delivered on a tray. 

When lunch approached, Woolsey looked up from his terminal. “The reactor should’ve gone critical by now. Unless they stopped or delayed it.” 

“They stopped it,” John said. He followed Woolsey back to the gate room, feeling numb. 

“Off world activation!” 

The gate lit up. Marines and scientists, some supporting each other, came through. Zelenka hurried in; behind him, Ronon and Teyla each had an arm supporting Rodney. 

“McKay,” John called above the racket. But before he could get down the steps, the medical team intercepted Rodney, laid him out on a stretcher, and whisked him away. John headed for Teyla. “What happened? How is he?” 

“The meltdown was prevented,” Teyla said. “It had been sabotaged in the first place by Genii rebels. They put up more resistance than we anticipated. Doctor McKay has been stabbed.” 

John’s knees felt weak. “Is he okay?” 

Ronon grabbed him by the elbow. “He’s going to be. Come on, let’s get to the infirmary.” 

John realized he’d forgotten the scooter back in Woolsey’s office. Ronon let John use his shoulder for help getting down the hall. 

The infirmary filled after they got there, mostly by marines and scientists who’d been scraped up in the melee. But John’s attention was riveted on the surgery room, where doctors buzzed around Rodney, his eyes heavy-lidded, face tight with pain. 

“I should’ve been there,” he told Teyla. “If I hadn’t been careless on the mission last week, I would’ve been there.” 

“I was there,” Teyla said. “And I could not stop it. One of the rebels had taken one of the Genii technicians hostage. Rodney—suffered one of his heroic moments. The technician escaped.” 

“He got stabbed,” Ronon finished. 

“Where?” John asked. He couldn’t see past Dr. Sherri’s white coat. 

“Chest.” 

John sat down in a chair. He dropped his head into his hands. 

Teyla rubbed circles on his back. 

Ronon stood in front of them, shielding them from view. 

John let himself panic for a few minutes. Then he pulled himself together. The three of them waited as others were treated and released. After an agonizing amount of time, Dr. Sherri came out. 

She beamed at them. “He’ll be fine.”

John sent a thanks to whatever force in the universe was looking after them. 

“He’s lucky.” Dr. Sherri explained that the knife had glanced off a rib, which while painful was worlds better than puncturing a lung or an artery. That Rodney would have stitches and probably a scar but as soon as he woke up, he would able to go back to his quarters. “That goes for you, too. You’re supposed to be resting,” she told John. “Where is your scooter? They don’t grow on trees.”

John gave Dr. Sherri his most winning smile. 

*****

“Ow. Everything hurts. Ow.” 

“Come on, Rodney. Read your pamphlet.”

“I’m sure I can guess the contents of ‘So You’ve Just Been Stabbed,’ thank you.” 

With Ronon and Teyla’s help—since John couldn’t use the scooter and push a wheelchair, even though he was pretty sure Rodney didn’t need it—they got back to their rooms. John thought his side of the adjoining door closed a second before they went in. He didn’t have to worry, though; Rodney had been ahead of him. 

“Rodney, what have you done to your quarters?” Teyla asked. 

“You like it? I’m calling it laboratory chic.” Rodney groaned as he got out of the chair. He stepped around paperwork and drone parts. “I might just knock out that wall and expand into half of Sheppard’s space.”

“Yeah, that’s never happening,” John said.

“Oh, like you need all of it.” 

“They let you bring drones up here?” Ronon asked. 

John looked at Rodney. 

“Um. Yes?” Rodney said. He clutched at his chest. “Ow. Stabbed man, here. Ow.” 

Ronon raised an alarmed eyebrow at John. “Think I’m definitely going to wait on new quarters.” 

“I need to shower the radioactive waste and surgery smell off myself. If nobody objects,” Rodney said. He went up the steps to his bedroom and disappeared. 

Teyla rounded on John. “We were here only the other night. Rodney had half the equipment that he has now. And there were not any drones.”

John took a step back. “I don’t know what to tell you. You give Rodney McKay space and he’ll try to work in it. He’s building us EMP drones. Could be helpful against the Replicators.” 

“Anti-replicator weapons? Has he been sleeping?” Teyla asked.

“Well. Yeah. I think so,” John said. He slept longer than John did in the mornings. Though John wasn’t sure how late Rodney stayed awake. “Why?” 

Teyla and Ronon exchanged glances. “Area 51,” she said.

“What about it?” John asked. 

Teyla blinked very quickly. She tilted her head. “John, have you never spoken to Rodney about what happened before he came home to Atlantis?” 

John felt like a fool. “No?”

Ronon blew out a breath. 

Teyla’s jaw clenched. Her words came out quiet and clipped. “Speak to him. See that he gets some rest, and in the morning I will inform Major Lorne and Doctor Zelenka that they need to help Rodney move some equipment out of his quarters. Good night, John.” She gave Ronon a sharp look. 

Ronon returned it, and shot it over at John. “Sheppard,” he said as they left. 

“What?” John asked as the door closed behind them. He frowned. What had he missed in not asking? He’d thought it was just painful Keller stories. There must’ve been more. Rodney had worked at Area 51 before. Maybe that’s where he’d gone back to work? 

John wasn’t going to burst in on Rodney’s shower. He felt a little ripe himself, actually, so he went back to his quarters—Rodney’s adjoining door wouldn’t open at his thought, but would at the touch of the panel—scrubbed up, and put on some of the new clothes he’d bought. He picked a navy blue t-shirt and some jogging pants. 

He heard a voice call out. 

“Rodney,” John called as he moved as fast as he could through the doorway, into Rodney’s quarters, up his steps, and into the bedroom, where Rodney was sitting on the floor wearing only a towel. He leaned against the wall only a few feet from his bed. “Rodney, you okay?” 

Rodney, glassy-eyed, shook his head. “Hypoglycemia,” he said. “Snuck up on me.” 

“Stay here,” John ordered. He didn’t know where Rodney’s stashes were yet, so he went back to his quarters, where he dug up a pair of Powerbars and the remainder of the sugar cookies. He brought them back to Rodney as fast as the walking boot would let him go. 

Rodney took one of the cookies and ate it. 

John sat down opposite him. Under other circumstances, he might’ve appreciated the view. But Rodney was way too pale. A large bandage clung to the side of his ribcage. Dr. Sherri had been right; Rodney had been incredibly lucky. “Another one?” 

Rodney took a second cookie at the prompt. He sighed as he chewed. “I liked this better…” He took another bite. “When it was your butt on the floor.” 

John laughed. Come to think of it, he’d missed lunch. He ripped open one of the Powerbars. “Heard you were today’s big hero.” 

Rodney shook his head. It rolled back and forth against the wall. “Zelenka’s better with reactors. Think it’s the Cold War-adjacent heritage.” 

“I thought you spent some time in Siberia.” 

“Underground next to a radiator. That place was cold, depressing. Did I mention cold?” Rodney pondered as he dug another cookie out of the box. “Speaking of, pass me the blanket?” 

John turned his head. The blue blanket lay across Rodney’s bed. He grabbed it and passed it over. 

Rodney draped it across himself. He reached underneath and tossed the damp towel back toward the bathroom. Then he wrapped the blanket tighter around his body. “That’s better.” 

“You want to try moving to the bed?” 

“In a minute. Dizzy.” 

John chewed a piece of Powerbar, swallowed. “Speaking of places you used to work. I heard something happened at Area 51.” 

“That was Teyla, right? Figures she’d raise the alarms.” He flashed John a tired smile. “I knew you wouldn’t turn me in, though.”

“Guess I have a soft spot for mad science,” John said. “What happened?” 

“Okay.” Rodney polished off the last of the box. “You don’t have any more?” 

John handed over the second Powerbar. 

Rodney tore into it. “These are so chewy.” 

He was stalling. John waited. 

Rodney chewed, swallowed, and sighed. “So the short, short, short version is that I had an… episode.” 

“An episode. Like, hypoglycemia?”

“No. A little mental, um, shift. Not a breakdown. I was just under a whole lot of stress and with the new medications I was a little bit off—”

“What new medications?” John asked. “For what?”

Rodney’s nostrils flared. “Do we really need to get into all of this? You never cared enough to ask about it then, so I don’t see why it all matters so much now.” 

Was that what he’d thought? “I never asked about it because bringing up Keller made you look like someone ran over your dog.” And because he hadn’t wanted to talk about Keller, either. Also because John had this strange suspicion that the universe had brought Rodney back to him, and if he questioned it too much fate might undo it all. “I didn’t want to drag you back through a—painful breakup.” 

“Oh.” Rodney chewed through two big bites of Powerbar. “Well. It was painful. I’m not usually in the positon of having to crush someone.” 

John lowered his Powerbar. “You… broke up with Keller?” 

“You can call her Jennifer. And yes. Though I looked for a while for ways not to do it. Did you think she broke up with me?” Rodney demanded. 

John shrugged. He finished the rest of the bar. 

Rodney sighed. “I would’ve thought so, too. Here. I’m cold again. Can you…?” Rodney held out a hand. 

John helped him up and onto the bed. He looked away while Rodney arranged himself under the covers. 

“You want to lay down? It’s sort of a long story.” 

John would’ve refused. But just then, he didn’t feel like freshly-wounded and hypoglycemic Rodney posed any kind of temptation. He got on top of the covers and stretched out. “I’m listening.” 

“We went back to Earth. I was going to help with the release of certain scientific theories developed by the Stargate program and thus get some of the credit that I—that we all—deserve. To do this, I would be taking a position in Academia—”

“I thought you worked in Area 51.”

“That comes later. Initially, I was ramping up to assume a professorship. Jennifer got a great job. We found a place to live. And it all would’ve been smooth sailing except that my entire body broke out in hives.” 

John turned his head.

Rodney nodded. “Everywhere. I was an itch factory. I itched in places it was physically impossible to scratch. Have you ever had eczema?” 

John shook his head. 

“I did as a kid, small patches; it cleared up. Anyway, this was a thousand times worse than that. I went on anti-histamines, covered myself with steroid creams, took prednisone—have you ever tried to sleep on prednisone? It’s like speed. Now, I like speed, but only when necessary. We did all the standard stuff like getting hypoallergenic everything, air filters, removing dyes and fragrances—after a few weeks, the hives go away. Cured.” 

“Good,” said John.

“No,” said Rodney. “That’s when things got really bad. Have you ever been so itchy you wanted to scratch your skin off? Well, that sensation is right up there with being totally unable to sleep, albeit on a different and uniquely horrible plane of torture. Once the itching went, the insomnia came on. I could be so comfortable, cozy, could not sleep. Not a wink. Living in a state of permanent and increasing exhaustion. So we started trying exercise, a different diet, supplements, sleeping pills—and Jennifer is a doctor, remember.” Rodney tuned on his side toward John. His hand crept to the wound on his ribcage, protecting it as he shifted. “So you have someone supportive right there to write me all the prescriptions I could ever need.” 

John’s frown deepened. 

“Not that she does, she mostly sends me to other specialists, but if your loved one is in need, you help. Which she did. All while other doctors were helping. And as it turns out, some of the really good drugs would get me a few hours of sleep. Which is when I may have stopped informing the left hand of what the right hand was doing, in hopes that both hands would give me twice the good drugs,” Rodney said. 

John turned onto his side facing Rodney. “Did she find out?” 

“Don’t get ahead of me. I got the good drugs. Too many. And I had a complete meltdown at a group of graduate students. In my defense, one of them did dress a lot like a clown. Those scare me.” Rodney drew in a long breath. “So the university asked me to leave which kind of put publishing plans on hold. Jennifer suggested I take a few weeks off and just rest. Which was, ironically, when I stopped being able to do anything but sleep.” 

“Jesus, Rodney.” John shivered. 

“Oh, here.” Rodney tugged and pulled until the blue blanket was out from underneath John; then he helped John drape it over him. 

John didn’t think about how much warmer it would be if he were to crawl underneath all of the covers and join Rodney between the sheets. 

“So I was sleeping eighteen, twenty hours a day. And I’ve stopped taking most of the sleep meds at this point.”

“Most?” John asked. 

“I had a couple of anti-anxiety meds. Not technically sleep aids. Those, I didn’t stop taking. I didn’t tell Jennifer about these, either.” 

John blinked. “And _you_ broke up with _her_?” 

“Stop jumping ahead. I couldn’t keep my eyes open. Could barely function. So Jennifer, being her caring, wonderful self—”

“Again, _you_ broke up with—”

“I will smother you with this pillow,” Rodney said. “Got me to see another specialist who might not have known about the anxiety medication, and he prescribed something else. Which didn’t immediately work. And then the SGC called and told me about a three week short-term contract available at Area 51. For the first time in weeks I felt well enough to get out of bed and I thought, it’s fine. I just miss work! That’s what this is. But because I am still sleeping a lot I see another specialist before I go who prescribes me something else that’s a little bit, um, speedy. Which reminds me of the prednisone. Which I still have, so I bring that along, too.” 

“How many different meds are we talking here, Rodney?” 

He counted on his fingers. “Nine?” 

John curled his legs up as leaned closer. He knew he should be horrified, and part of him was, but he hadn’t realized how much he’d wanted to know what had happened before now. “Did they keep you awake?” 

“Yes. And started to warp my sense of reality. Until I became convinced that everyone at Area 51 had been replaced by Replicators.” Rodney clutched the blanket’s edge. “Which, in my defense, could happen.” 

“But I’m guessing it didn’t.” 

“No. Lucky for me, you can only fight replicators with anti-replicator weapons. So when I fired one on who I thought was the ringleader, it did no damage whatsoever.” Rodney’s mouth turned down. “I am really glad that if it had to happen, I hallucinated Replicators and not Wraith. I could’ve hurt someone. Which would have been terrible and entirely my fault.” He took another deep breath. “So they restrained me. Tranquilized me. Held me until a lot of the medication left my system. I begged them not to call Jennifer, which probably should have been some kind of clue. They did anyway. She took leave to be with me. The official report was that I had a stress-related episode brought about by the wrong combination of prescription medication. I had the option to go back with Jennifer.” Rodney got quiet. He looked as pale as he’d looked on the table in the infirmary. 

“Did you?” John asked.

“I went to an inpatient program. Not everybody knows this, by the way. I only ever told Teyla and Ronon. And not all of it. They don’t need to know—all of it.” Rodney cleared his throat. “I stayed there two weeks. Talked to some very nice people who helped me admit that I, um, didn’t ever want to work in academia. Or have children. Or get married to Jennifer. Or live on Earth.” He made a face. “Oh, the last one I worked out for myself. Once I started figuring it all out it was like dominos falling.” Rodney laughed nervously. “You know I actually really like psychiatrists? Sure, plenty of them are quacks but the good ones can ask just the right questions. It’s helpful.” Rodney took a breath. “Anyway, from there I went back, told Jennifer. That was awful. I guess it could have been worse, but it was… yeah.” He paused. “Another terrible thing that was entirely my fault. She dodged a bullet,” Rodney said. 

“McKay,” John said. It was harsh, though maybe not wrong. 

“She did. I was so fixated on some ideal of success I dreamed up when I was a lonely, dumb kid in a CIA lab who felt picked on and unappreciated that I never stopped to think about what I actually wanted. What was actually making me happy. Which was being here with my family doing work that mattered. And it was like I was too stupid and blind to see it until I was gone and forced to look back. If we had gotten married? What a disaster that would’ve been. I think all of the health stuff was my body’s way of trying to put the brakes on.” Rodney sighed. “I think it’s different for a lot of us that were the first through the iris. To Jennifer? Earth was always home. But when we went through? I never planned on going back.” 

“Really? Not even the brilliant Rodney McKay thought he was going to be able to make it back to Earth?” John asked. He remembered how Rodney had been back then. More swagger and bluster. A quicker fuse. A slower smile. 

“I mean if anyone could do it, it would be me, but I also thought we might all immediately die. But being stuck here kind of forced me to think of this place as home. And I still do.” 

“I never felt like I belonged anywhere,” John said. “But I didn’t feel like that when I got here.” He’d never said it out loud, but he wanted to say it now. “I’m never going back to Earth. Not to stay. If push ever comes to shove, I’ll leave the city rather than go back. Find someplace else to stay in Pegasus.” 

Rodney reached out. His palm pressed flat against John’s chest. 

He wondered if Rodney could feel how fast his heart beat. 

“If it comes to that? I’ll go with you,” Rodney said. 

John had been wrong about Rodney being a temptation. He got things wrong sometimes. Too often, maybe. “So, uh. Stop me if this is a bad thing,” he said, leaned forward, and kissed him. 

After a long, still second, Rodney kissed him back. 

It wasn’t swift or desperate. It was like none of the ways he’d imagined it, really. Rodney’s lips were soft, his mouth just parted open. After a few moments, John edged closer. He found the side of Rodney’s face, felt the curve of his jaw, the light scratch of stubble. He knew Rodney could be touchy about his hair, but when John’s fingers slid through the fine, short hair at the nape of his neck, Rodney made a small, pleased noise into his mouth. 

John had usually imagined the kissing leading to other things. But now there were covers in the way. John had spent most of the day half out of his mind with worry. His ankle ached. Rodney had gotten a knife in the ribs and sported fresh stitches, on top of probably hours spent troubleshooting a nuclear reactor, on top of having a hypoglycemic reaction. He’d had better timing. 

It was Rodney who broke off first. His breath came a little more quickly than usual. “Not a bad thing,” he told John. “Not bad.” 

“Good.” John couldn’t stop the goofy grin from spreading across his face. 

“Was this a—this isn’t because I got stabbed, is it? You don’t have some stabbing fetish?” Rodney asked. 

John shook his head. 

“And this isn’t some kind of dare,” Rodney said. 

John narrowed his eyes. “Geez, Rodney. Give yourself a little credit.” 

“I give myself a lot of credit. But I did just tell you a story about how I did some pretty despicable things, and you’re all ‘let’s make out.’”

“You’re not the only person who’s done despicable things,” John said. 

“Oh, yeah? What did you do?” 

“I never asked you not to leave,” John said. “And I never told you why.” He could see it, the moment realization reflected back in Rodney’s gaze. 

“Oh.” Rodney’s mouth turned down. He took a breath. “Oh,” he said again. “So this isn’t like a new…?”

John shook his head. He couldn’t look at Rodney. Which was hard, because Rodney was right there.

Rodney sighed. “I am exhausted.” 

John nodded. It was okay. It was a lot, and more than John had planned to reveal. He would go; he’d give Rodney time to absorb all of it. 

“Do you want to take a nap?” 

John glanced up. 

“With me?” Rodney did look tired, but also happy. “I do have the occasional night terror, but if you just roll out of range when the shouting starts you should be okay.” 

“Yeah.” John pushed the blanket to one side, pulled back the covers, and got underneath. He rearranged the blanket and turned back toward Rodney. 

“You know if they ever tried to make us go back? We could probably just hack the sensors and find a place to stow away.” Rodney yawned. 

John’s eyelids felt heavy. “Raid the mess hall, the hydroponics labs for food.” 

“Easy,” Rodney said. 

John murmured his agreement. He fell asleep first.


	3. Score

“Don’t move,” Rodney whispered. 

“Mm,” John agreed, snuggling further into the cocoon of covers and the scent of Rodney’s bed. It only occurred to him that something was wrong when the bedroom door shut. 

In an instant, John was out of bed, on his feet, the weight of the walking boot slowing him down not by much. But in a fight, not much could be the difference between getting stabbed in the rib or in the heart. Ronon had warned him about being up here alone—

The door opened. “Be five minutes, don’t touch anything or you will hurt yourselves.” A shirtless Rodney stepped through and the door slid shut again. Rodney relaxed. “Sorry. Are you okay?” 

“Who…?” John looked down at the lamp in his hand. When had he picked that up? He put it back on the nightstand.

“Busybody Lorne and Doctor Not Actually My Mother But Acts Like It are here to make sure I don’t blow up the city’s new luxury high-rise. They want the drones back.” A faint line of pink had seeped to the bottom of Rodney’s bandage. “It’s okay. You can sleep in. I’ll keep the door closed until they’re gone.” 

“How long did I…?” John turned. Rodney’s windows opened up on an endless ocean view. Bright sunshine streamed in. 

“Most of the night. I’ll get rid of the wonder twins. Then do you want to get breakfast? Although, it’s getting to be lunchtime. Brunch,” Rodney said. “I’m starved. I could eat an entire buffet.” He went into the bathroom. 

John sat on the bed. He stared at the closed bedroom door. At any time, Major Lorne could decide to continue the discussion with Rodney. He could come up the steps, stride in, and oops, there’d be his commanding officer. 

He’d left the adjoining doors open last night. 

Rodney emerged in his well-worn bathrobe. He peered at John. “Lay down. It’s fine.” 

“The doors,” John said. 

“Closed. I took care of it,” Rodney said. “Lay down. Or prop up your ankle, at least.” 

“I should—”

Rodney was there, right in his face. “John,” he said. “Let me handle this.” 

John nodded, mutely, and sat down. This was a terrible fucking idea. There was a reason he’d never—okay, multiple reasons he’d never—if anyone found out, they could send him back to Earth, they could—

Rodney put on a shirt. “I hope they have pancakes today.” He opened and stepped through the bedroom door. 

John ducked back, then bolted as quietly as possible into Rodney’s bathroom. The door had stayed open for only a moment, but that would be all it would take if Lorne or Zelenka looked. Would running the water give him away? He leaned against the counter and folded his arms around his middle. 

Rodney had kissed him. 

In the mirror, John noticed that his hair stuck straight up on one side. He tried to flatten it; it half-worked. 

Rodney had kissed him. Or kissed him back. Did that matter? 

“Get a grip,” John whispered to his reflection. 

By the time Rodney finally reappeared, John had talked himself in and out of ten different worst-case scenarios and plans to troubleshoot each of them. 

“Hey,” Rodney said. “They’re gone. Are you—”

“Look, Rodney,” John began. “Don’t ask, don’t tell is still a thing, and I don’t know w—”

“No.” Rodney covered the distance between them faster than John expected. “I thought this might happen, and no.” 

“No?” John blinked at him.

“No. You don’t get to say what you said, sleep in my new giant bed, kiss me, and then take it back.” Rodney searched his face. “Especially since you’ve been flirting with me for like, forever.” 

“I have?” John asked. He glanced at himself in the mirror, wondering if he looked as confused as he felt.

“Oh, yeah. The personal shield? The RC cars? All those movie nights with just the two of us? All the ‘platonic’ head-slapping?” 

“I mean, head-slapping is pretty platonic,” John countered. 

“Then why don’t you do it to Ronon or Teyla?” Rodney asked. 

“Because they’d break my arms.” 

Rodney reached up and very gently smacked the side of John’s head. But his hand stayed there and smoothed back the unrulier half of John’s hair. “My God, it really does have a mind of its own.” 

“You have no idea.” John didn’t lean into the touch… much.

Rodney winced and yanked his arm back down. “Stitches.” 

“Oh, hey, yeah, I noticed your bandage looking rough.” 

“Yes, I know, stabbed man,” Rodney said. 

“Can I help you change it?” John offered. 

“Um. Yes.” Rodney took off his shirt.

The suites’ bathrooms were big and airy, but Rodney’s felt close and private. John focused on getting the big bandage off – the edges stuck, but the gauzy middle peeled away easily. The stitches weren’t all that gnarly, because the gash itself wasn’t that wide. John imagined a small, stout knife. Then he imagined it striking half an inch lower. “Sorry I wasn’t there.” 

“Not your fault.” Rodney’s chest rose and fell more quickly. 

John focused on the wound and not the broad expanse of warm, pale skin dotted by the occasional freckle. He swabbed around the wound with just a little water and a cotton ball – he’d had enough stitches to know you shouldn’t get them wet right away – and replaced the old bandage with a new one. “There. All done.” Which should have been their cue to get dressed, go down to the mess, get some food in them and let Rodney soak up some hero worship while John tried to get his head on straight. 

Instead John let his touch linger. Rodney’s bare skin felt overheated. 

“Is now a good time to try the kissing thing again?” Rodney asked. “Because I’m pretty sure now that I’m awake and have had caffeine—I left you a cup, by the way—”

John was aware of their reflections in the mirror. He watched out of the corner of his eye as he stepped in closer, bent his head, and covered Rodney’s mouth with his own. Then he closed his eyes and concentrated on warm bare skin underneath his hands, the press of Rodney’s lips, and the way his body felt like singing. _Him, that one. Rodney McKay, him._

Rodney’s hands settled on John’s shoulders. It all felt very middle school dance for the space of a few breaths. 

And then it didn’t. 

“I’m, uh, really not that injured,” Rodney gasped against John’s mouth. His next kiss was sloppier, hotter, and his tongue flicked against John’s lips. “In case you were wondering.”

“Yeah?” John backed Rodney up against the counter. He was already half-hard. “You should still probably take it easy.” He tilted his head and leaned into Rodney’s body, mindful of the bandage but also the answering hardness making itself known through what were—okay, yeah—really obscenely soft lounge pants. John couldn’t resist running his hands up Rodney’s thighs. The material slipped through his fingers and he found himself cupping a very interested erection. 

Rodney gripped John’s hair for balance and gasped into his mouth before pulling him back in for greedy, sucking kisses that didn’t land just on John’s mouth, but also his chin, his neck, his chest. 

John leaned back just enough to grab the hem of his t-shirt. Rodney helped him yank it off overhead. From the way he seemed to want to map every inch of exposed skin by rubbing his entire body against John’s, John thought it was all going pretty well. A little too well, actually, and if Rodney managed to get John out of any more clothes, it might be over pretty fast. He broke off the kiss and grinned at the way Rodney came after more. John pushed him back against the counter and dropped onto his knees, barely hampered by the way the boot clunked on the tile. 

“Oh,” Rodney said. 

The drawstring on Rodney’s pants had been tied in a bow. It came loose with a tug. John looked up to find Rodney gripping the edge of the counter with both hands and staring down at him with wide eyes. 

A shiver worked its way from the crown of John’s head all the way to his toes. He tugged down Rodney’s pants. He wasn’t wearing underwear; his cock sprang out, hard and blushing. And big. Pretty big. Had John already noted the bigness? Because the thickness and length of it would’ve shut down anyone who’d ever accused Rodney of overcompensating. 

John licked his lips. It had been a couple of years since he’d handled anyone but himself. But when he wrapped a hand around its velvety hardness and gave Rodney a slow, experimental stroke, all his hesitation vanished. He took Rodney’s cock into his mouth, felt its weight and heat and size, and remembered how much he’d always liked this. 

Above him, Rodney moaned. It echoed against the tile, broken only by the wet sounds of John’s lips and tongue as he worshipped Rodney’s cock. He tasted good; he smelled good. John relaxed his throat and bobbed his head down over the length of him and tried to take more, more. Every moan and whimper he heard went straight to John’s own cock and threw off his rhythm. 

“You look incredible,” Rodney gasped. 

John had been concentrating on the blowjob, but this made him look up at Rodney, whose attention was torn between him and the full-length mirror a few feet away. 

“God, you’re so hot.”

Out of the corner of his eye, John watched himself in the mirror as his mouth slid over Rodney’s dick. He watched how Rodney trembled, and watched and heard as he slapped a hand against the counter and swore when John went really deep and hummed. It was too hard to keep watching and keep going, so John broke off and stroked Rodney’s cock with his hand while he caught his breath. “You know, you’re pretty kinky, McKay. You should set up cameras.” 

“I will get you a film crew and your own private video server, if that’s what you—oh,” Rodney gasped as John sucked him deep once more. 

He felt Rodney tense underneath him. John sucked greedily and held on, heedless of Rodney’s warning cry before he moaned and came into John’s mouth, his hips bucking. John swallowed him down. It was only a little bitter, a little salty, but it made him feel primal and raw and like he needed to come now now _now_. 

“Come here,” Rodney murmured. 

Before John could yank down his own pants, Rodney drew him up and pushed John against the counter. His kiss was wet and deep; John thought Rodney must be able to taste himself. He scrambled to wriggle out of his jogging pants. “Rodney, I have to,” he panted against his mouth. The moment he slid them down, Rodney wrapped a hot, slick hand around John’s cock. Was it some kind of lotion, John wondered. And that was the last thing he wondered for a while, because the world narrowed into the feeling of fucking Rodney’s tight fist until John shuddered through one of the most intense orgasms of his life. 

*****

They did not make it to breakfast, brunch, or lunch. 

They showered, napped, and snacked. Rodney had granola bars, string cheese, and bluish-redish kula fruit, which was a cross between an apple and a plum. Rodney had MREs, too, but after choking down too many back during his service on Earth, John had long ago decided to limit them to situations where there were no other options. John only left Rodney’s quarters that morning to send out a couple of email cancellations blaming his ankle. If Rodney willingly called off sick, half the city would actually think he’d been replaced by replicators, so he sent several angry emails about the confiscation of his important research and made it seem like he was a powder keg.

“They’ll all be too scared to bother me. It’s better this way.” Rodney balanced the laptop on his knees in his bed. 

“Are you angry Teyla ratted you out?” 

Rodney thought. He looked down at John, who’d only made it back into his jogging pants and had left off the dumb boot for the rest of the day. He looked up and out at the ocean through the windows. “Not today, not especially.” 

John liked the way Rodney’s sheets felt against his bare stomach. 

*****

They did make it down for a late dinner. They sat at a table across from Ronon. As they made small talk, snapshots of the previous day and night interrupted John’s thoughts. The way Rodney’s breath puffed against his neck when he laughed. The way an idle touch stiffened his nipples into peaks. The way the ocean’s reflection made his eyes even bluer. John let Rodney carry most of the conversation, which steered from the weather to workouts to gossip to a mission Ronon, Zelenka, and Lorne were going on the next day. 

“Why wasn’t I assigned to go?” Rodney shoveled in forkfuls of mashed potato-ish root vegetable. 

“Lorne and Zelenka think you might kill them,” Ronon said. 

Rodney shrugged at John. “I don’t know where they get this stuff.”

“So you’re not chasing invisible replicators?” Ronon asked. 

“The SGC themselves ruled that incident the result of an ‘unfortunate pharmaceutical interaction,’ thank you very much.” Rodney stabbed at his not-potato mash. “I was just doing some side work in my quarters.” 

“Teyla thinks you’re mad at her, too.” 

Rodney put down his fork and sighed. “I have to go talk to her,” he told them, but he locked eyes with John before he took his empty tray up. 

“You and McKay okay?” Ronon asked. 

“Hm?” John hadn’t been watching Rodney’s butt in his BDUs, nor had he been imagining getting up close and personal with said butt. “Yeah. I should’ve said something to him about the drones.” John ate. “To be honest, whenever it’s Rodney and science? I tend to cut him a lot of slack. Maybe more than I should.” 

“It’s also easier for you to do that than, you know, talk about it,” Ronon observed. 

John raised an eyebrow at him. 

Ronon chewed and stared back, unblinking. 

Okay. Maybe Ronon had a point. “You’re right. I should’ve asked him about Keller. And what happened on Earth.” 

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Ronon said. 

“What are you talking about?” 

Ronon chewed and stared some more. 

John chewed and stared back. “…Seems to me like if you’re going to criticize a man for not talking—”

“He came back for you,” Ronon said. 

Voices in the mess hall seemed to mute. The room felt as if it had narrowed to the pair of them sitting on opposite sides of the table. John stirred his food. “Did Rodney tell you that?” 

“Didn’t have to. The way you don’t have to, when you act like you acted in the infirmary yesterday.” 

“I was worried,” John protested. He tried to casually glance around; no one was nearby enough to hear. No one was eavesdropping. 

“You weren’t just worried.” Ronon put down his fork and sat in front of his half-full tray, deliberately not eating. 

Uh-oh. That was a Ronon Dex power move. “What do you want to hear? I was afraid? I was. I worry about him. About all of you. Especially when you have to go off world without me.” 

“Sheppard. I know there are rules. And it isn’t ‘approved’ by your government.” Ronon leaned closer and lowered his voice. “But between two men—there can be bonds other than brotherhood. Back on Sateda, there were soldiers who…”

Mashed root fell off John’s fork. Ronon kept talking, but John had trouble processing more than a few phrases at a time. 

*****

He heard Rodney’s door whoosh open and closed around ten.

Rodney appeared in the doorway. “So Teyla’s children are a cut above other children, but I am still very glad to give them back at the end of the night and also I don’t understand how she turned an apology into an offer to babysit. I read a book called ‘Where Is My Starship?’ to Torren and Ell three times before they fell asleep. It’s a good story, but once you know the ending? Move on.” He came into John’s quarters. “How was the rest of your night?” 

John reclined on the couch. He’d unbooted his ankle and propped it up on a pillow with ice. He’d been trying to beat Rodney’s Tetris high score, but he kept getting distracted and defeated. _It was fine, other than the part where Ronon tried to explain that it was okay to be gay._

Oh, and the fact that apparently, John was obvious. He supposed Ronon spent more time with John than even Teyla did these days, but Ronon wasn’t known for his incredible interpersonal skills, either. And yet, Ronon had picked up on it. He’d picked up so much, he’d developed theories about John, and about Rodney, and why Rodney had come back. And though he’d said he understood there were rules, and John knew he could trust Ronon, Ronon was still from another military in another galaxy. What if he said the wrong thing to the wrong person? What if he’d already spun all his theories to Amelia? What if she thought it was a rumor as funny and improbable as the one where John was supposed to be an Ancient, and she spread that one around too? 

What if it cost him the city? What if it cost him Rodney? What if Lorne or Zelenka caught them with their doors open? What if the SGC heard and quietly called John back to Earth, or to another post in another galaxy? What if they made him choose? What if he had no choice?

Fear and dread flushed John’s veins with cold. There was only one sure, solid way forward. He had to stop it. It would be insane to continue, knowing how much could be at stake. Totally insane. 

Maybe John was totally insane. 

He took a breath. “Our friends… they can be real busybodies.” 

“Tell me about it.” Rodney joined him on the couch. “I would like to blame it on Teyla being in Mom-mode, but she always thinks I’m so sensitive.”

“You did break out in full-body hives.”

“Back on Earth.”

“You do carry an Epi-pen with you.” 

“Citrus is in _everything_.”

“What ever happened to that prescription mattress?” 

Rodney’s upper arm brushed John’s. “Lost track of it. These beds are softer than I’m used to. But they feel pretty good so far.” He shrugged again. “Not that I’ve tried out yours.” 

It was an offer. Casual, but there, and it short-circuited all the questions that had been ringing in John’s ears and went straight to his cock. 

Stopping would be the prudent choice. He just didn’t want to. At all. Laying in Rodney’s bed that morning had been like rain after a long, long drought. And John only wanted more. Even if it might cost him everything someday. 

There were some rules worth breaking; John had always thought so.

John turned his head. Rodney sat close, just next to him on the couch. When he turned his head, too, John felt warm breath and caught the way Rodney’s eyes swept over him. “You should test it. It’s bigger. It could have a, uh, different softness-to-volume ratio.” 

“Need to watch out for that,” Rodney said.

“We could go check it out?” 

Rodney nodded. “Right now?” 

John nodded along, then at his ankle. “Little help?” 

“The stabbed leading the lame.” Rodney got up and offered John a hand. 

John took it. He slung his arm around Rodney’s shoulder and hopped along with him, up the three steps and into his bedroom. He still hadn’t put anything on the walls. The big blanket he’d purchased for the bed just stretched to the edges of the mattress. “This is it,” he announced breezily, and two hops let him sprawl back on the soft mattress. If John’s heart pounded and he could hear Ronon’s voice in his head telling him that _He came back for you_ , well, no need to tip off Rodney about it. 

“Big,” Rodney said. 

“Yup.” 

“I should. Take off my…” Rodney crouched down and began tugging at his bootlaces. 

John sat up partway. He leaned back on his elbows. There was a question he should probably ask. “Say, Rodney?” 

“Hm?” 

“You ever fucked a guy before?” 

Rodney froze. But he unfroze just as quickly. He got one boot off. “I’m, um, familiar with the mechanics? But it’s more of a theoretical knowledge rather than…” 

“We could get you some practical experience.” John stripped his shirt off overhead. 

Rodney froze again. Then he yanked the other boot off and dove onto the bed with John. “Oh wow, it is soft,” he said, before he covered John’s mouth with his own.

They sprawled out together in the giant bed, at first careful. But John didn’t want careful. He took Rodney’s face between his hands and kissed him hotly, pulled Rodney down on top of him, and hooked his uninjured ankle around one of Rodney’s legs. Their hips pressed together. Rodney was hard; John was hard, and for a desperate few seconds John felt like he might come right there in his pants. 

He took advantage of the big bed and rolled them over, so John straddled Rodney. From this vantage, he could still press hot, sucking kisses onto Rodney’s neck and concentrate on exploring his body. He slipped his hands underneath Rodney’s shirt. 

Then it was Rodney’s turn to buck his hips and roll them back so John was underneath again. He used the opportunity to take off his shirt and throw it away. Rodney winced and held his bandaged side. 

“Stitches?” John asked.

“Just pulled for a second. It’s okay. I’m okay.” As if to reassure him, Rodney kissed him deeply and pressed him back down into the mattress. 

John had to wriggle to get his bad ankle out from under them, but Rodney interpreted this as a _get me out of these pants, please_ move, which John was fine with, especially when Rodney rolled off of him and took off his own pants, underwear, socks, and returned to greedily yank off the rest of John’s clothes. It was far more efficient than seductive, but John couldn’t complain when he took Rodney in his arms again, shifted his hips, and felt the heat of Rodney’s erection slide against his own. 

Fuck, it was good, John thought. For a while that was all they did, their hips rocking together as they groped and kissed. He could come like this, he knew. But he had more in mind. He broke off. “Fuck me,” he said, half-request, half-order.

Rodney, breathless, nodded. 

John scrambled for his nightstand. Everything inside had been jostled in the move, but the bottle of lube was still there. He contemplated the choreography – on his knees, on his back? On the one hand, he wanted to see the look on Rodney’s face. But he also just wanted Rodney inside him, now, and it would be an easier angle on his hands and knees. Hands and knees won, he decided. John started to lube up one of his own fingers, but Rodney took the bottle.

“Here, let me.” 

“Just a finger. Start with one. Go slow.” John turned and lowered himself onto his elbows. He spread his thighs open and let out a slow, shaky breath. He felt utterly exposed. Rodney could see him, see everything, see him holding himself wide, see John’s aching cock. Pressure circled his hole. For a moment John tensed; then he relaxed and Rodney’s lubed finger slid inside him. “Slow,” he moaned. And after a while, “Another one.” “More.” “Yes.” “Faster.” 

Rodney McKay had a wall full of diplomas for a reason. When he finally slid his fingers out of John and replaced them with the thick, blunt head of his cock, John begged to be fucked. He swore and twisted his hands in the blanket underneath them and rocked his hips back because Rodney took his sweet time getting in. And once in, he lingered, letting John feel the full thrust of his cock, the strength of his body, his hands gripping John’s hips. 

John had imagined Rodney talking in bed. He’d imagined it a lot. But he’d been wrong again; it was John muttering nonsensical obscenities and urging Rodney on with: “Come on, McKay, fuck me like you mean it” and “Harder, do it harder, I want to feel you in my ass all week.” 

But Rodney just adjusted his angle, pressed his hand onto John’s lower back to change his position, and then his every thrust found that perfect spot – the one that stole all of John’s words and left him moaning every time Rodney drove back in. 

It was all John could do to keep breathing; Rodney pulled John up and back against him, one arm around his chest while his other hand worked John’s cock. 

He couldn’t hold out. John came hard, jerking against the grip of Rodney’s fist as Rodney’s cock thrust against the sensitive spot inside him. He groaned long and low and collapsed forward onto his elbows. John let his head hang down and moaned into the blanket as Rodney shifted again and drove in so deep and hard, John had to hang onto the blanket and brace himself to stay upright. 

And then Rodney pulled John’s hips back. He let out a gasp and spilled himself inside John, his fingers gripping John’s hips so tightly John thought he’d surely leave marks. He finally stilled, let out another shuddering breath, and slid out. But once he did, he paused there, bent down, and rested his head on John’s left butt cheek. 

John only had the energy to snort. Rodney did not move. “You taking a nap?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.” Rodney patted John’s right butt cheek. His voice sounded a little slurred. “Was that okay? Did we do okay?” 

John nodded against the blanket. He felt boneless. “Yes. First place. Grade A. Gold star.” 

“Great,” Rodney said. He patted John’s butt again. 

“…Rodney?” 

“Give me a minute,” Rodney said. “I think I tore a stitch.” 

*****

He hadn’t. They took the world’s hottest shower ever, both just leaning on each other while standing under the spray. 

They adjourned to their respective quarters for new clothes, and for Rodney, a new bandage.

While John scrubbed at the damp spots on his bedroom blanket in his bathroom sink, Rodney stuck his head in. 

“Oh, hey. It’s kind of late. And your bed probably has a wet spot.” 

John smirked and scrubbed. 

“Don’t know if you’d want to sleep over again. It’s okay if you don’t,” Rodney hurried on. “I know—I know this morning was—not ideal. And you have to think about—and I have to think about—certain realities.” 

John hadn’t realized how relaxed he’d felt until his shoulders tensed. The prudent thing would be to set limits with Rodney. Sure, hang out, have sex sometimes, but do things to maintain a cover. Like sleeping separately. Going on dates with women occasionally. Keeping the doors closed whenever anyone came over. “Yeah, I’ll sleep over. If you don’t mind sharing.” He rinsed the spot on the blanket until it looked like he’d gotten the soap out. “Can you fix it so that no one can override the main door controls but us?” 

“I’ll figure it out.” 

“We do have to be careful. If this is something you want to keep going…?” John wanted to take it back the moment he said it. Asking questions like that this early wasn’t fair. He should be keeping things fun and low-pressure, and yet all his heart wanted to do was the adult equivalent of handing Rodney a note reading _Be my secret boyfriend 4 ever? Y/N?_

“…Yes.” It came out a little stiff, a little formal, a little smug. 

John glanced over at Rodney. 

He rocked back on his heels. Rodney wore that pair of socks with the hole in the toe. 

Or maybe half his socks had holes in the toes. John shot him a grin before he cleared his throat and hung the blanket up to help it dry. 

“You should put your boot back on if you’re going to be hobbling around, though.” 

“It’s feeling okay right now,” John said. 

“If your weak ankles get you suspended from missions…”

“I have a mild sprain, Rodney, I do not have—” John turned around, but Rodney had already gone. 

*****

John woke up in Rodney’s quarters in the middle of the night. He watched out of one eye as Rodney got up and grabbed his robe off a hook on the wall. “You want your blanket?” John mumbled. Except the famous blue blanket was mostly wound around John. 

“You hang onto it. I didn’t mean to wake you. I have a—I need to get some work done.” Rodney paused. “I want to get some work done.”

“Mmfkay,” John said. He rolled back over.

*****

Rodney made better coffee than John did. John frowned at his cup. He’d never had his coffee in Rodney’s quarters. But Rodney had cleared off enough space on the couch for both of them to sit. Dawn turned Rodney’s living room slowly from blue to gold. 

Rodney returned to the couch with his, oh, probably sixth cup.

John lifted the edge of the blanket.

Rodney settled in under it. “It’s early.” 

John raised an eyebrow. “I know.”

“I had an idea,” Rodney huffed. “And if you’re me, you ignore ideas at your peril. I could have an idea that might save the lives of everyone in the city at two fifteen on some random morning—”

“Rodney. You’re an adult. You’re allowed to get up and work,” John said. 

“Yes. Yes, I am.” Rodney blinked. “Oh. Sorry. I expected resistance.”

John wasn’t going to say it. He wasn’t. “…Keller?”

“ _Jennifer_ thought it was unhealthy for me to get up in the middle of the night and not at least try to make it quick.”

John thought about this. “She’s probably right.”

“Of course she was right. But it’s also extremely unhealthy to lay there for hours in the dark and imagine great scientific advances swirling away down the drain—hey, were you jealous of Jennifer?” Rodney asked. 

John sipped his coffee. “This is really good.” 

Rodney waited. 

“Maybe a little.”

“Oh.” Rodney’s brow furrowed.

While they were stuck in the mire of uncomfortable topics. “Was—you’ve really never—with another man? Before?” John asked. 

Rodney drank his coffee. “Remember when I was telling you about how, back on Earth, once I started figuring things out, it was like dominos falling?” He took a breath. “That I was interested in that… was one of them.” 

“You never thought about it before?” 

“Sure I thought about it. But I think about everything. And it’s not that I don’t like women. I like women. I just like them—also,” Rodney said. He twisted toward him and shoved his mug at John for emphasis. “You used to be married to a woman.” 

“Nancy is a woman,” John agreed. 

“Does that mean you like women—also?” 

John considered his response. “I liked her. Loved her. She made me feel like I didn’t have to be myself. I bought it, for a while. Then I realized…” John had to get up. Sitting under the blanket suddenly felt suffocating. He twitched it aside and went after another cup of coffee. “Wherever you go? There you are.” The second cup wasn’t as good as the first. 

“So, uh… you’ve had… boyfriends…?” 

It annoyed John that Ronon was better at talking about this stuff than either he or Rodney were, and they were the ones who’d slept together. “In college, I had opportunities. But nothing serious. When I went into the Air Force, I decided to give it up. All I wanted to do was fly. I lasted for a while, but a few opportunities cropped up there, too, and I took a few risks.” John forced a smile. “No boyfriends, per se. But I’ve fucked a few guys. Been fucked more often. I like that more.” He frowned at the coffee. The last part had been too much, and too defensive, but he had no barometer for this conversation. 

“Did you like last night?” Rodney asked.

The question caught John off-guard. Last night… had been incredible. 

“Because with practice, I’ll get better,” Rodney assured him. “To be honest, I’m more concerned about giving you a blowjob. I tried once with a banana—very embarrassing, would not recommend. So I got some toys and it was a little easier with a dildo, but it’s tough to practice without feedback. But listen—I’m a quick study. Give me a chance and I will figure it out.”

John just stared at Rodney. He’d practiced? When had Rodney started practicing? Wait, he’d said that about the dominoes falling—but that had been before Rodney had come back. Rodney had realized back then. That he was interested. In men, at least.

 _He came back for you._

“Oh! And if you want to do to me what I, um, did to you last night, that can be arranged as well.” 

John opened his mouth. He closed it.

“Pretty sure I’ll like it,” Rodney said. “The results of initial experiments were very promising.” 

John’s brain short-circuited. Experiments? “You have a dildo?” 

“Who doesn’t have a dildo?” Rodney asked. 

“I don’t have a dildo.” 

“Sure you don’t.”

“I don’t.”

Rodney looked skeptical. “Even the Athosians sell dildos.” 

“They do not—oh,” John said, realizing what those shiny carved decorative sticks in the mainland stall at the last harvest festival had been. 

“You really don’t? Are dildos against regulations? They can’t be. I’ll buy you one.” 

“I don’t need a dildo, Rodney.”

He got a gleam in his eye. “That’s right, you don’t. Come over here.” 

John was confused and still waking up, but his erection had started without him. 

Rodney’s first blowjob wasn’t bad by any standard of blowjob, once John coached him around the teeth issue. In fact, it was pretty great. So great, John didn’t even mind when Rodney went and got ready, kissed him goodbye, and abandoned the opportunity for John to reciprocate in favor of heading to the labs to continue his late night brainstorm. 

John finished his coffee. “He came back for you,” he whispered, not stating some certainty. Just… trying on the idea. 

He rode his sense of peaceful post-orgasm unreality around through three morning meetings. He even caught himself smiling at Lorne as the Major passed off another stack of reports for John to take care of. 

“Are you feeling okay, sir?” Lorne asked.

“Never better,” John said. 

He sobered up when Woolsey summoned John to his office over the radio. He arrived on the scooter to find Woolsey gazing into the empty air. John knocked on the glass door. “Uh, sir?” 

Woolsey didn’t seem startled. “Colonel. Have a seat.” 

They made small talk; meetings, trade agreements, catch-up on questions and answers that had probably already been confirmed through email. “Don’t mean to cut to the chase, but was there something else you wanted to talk about?” 

“The IOA will be sending a team of representatives in three days for a sort of… informal evaluation. They would like to speak to you while they are here.” 

John tried not to twitch. “An informal evaluation—of me?” 

“Primarily it will be an evaluation of me.” Woolsey clicked the tip of his pen. “I wouldn’t waste your time preparing a speech. They’ll ask you some questions. You’ll answer. They’ll decide what they decide.” 

John hitched forward in the chair. “You think it’s a forgone conclusion?” 

“I don’t know. I hope not.” He sounded tired. “I think a large part of the decision is out of my hands.” 

“Do you want to stay?” John asked.

That startled him. Woolsey adjusted his glasses. “Yes. Yes, Colonel, I do.” 

“All right, then. We can make a case for—”

“I’ll give you copies of my agendas and reports for the last two months, Colonel,” Woolsey cut in. “You can read over them. Ask questions. While I’m still here.” 

*****

John grabbed a to-go box of dinner along with an extra helping of dessert, just in case Rodney got back late. 

Rodney, who had maybe come back to Atlantis for John. 

He ate his food and beat Rodney’s Tetris high score, then paged through Woolsey’s reports and calendar information. 

Woolsey started early. He ended late. He color-coded. He carved out fifteen minute slots for breaks to stretch his legs. 

Not that John’s job didn’t have its parallels. Before they went to a new planet, he read everything there was to know about it in the database, gathered all available intel, checked available maps, strategized with the team, considered contingency plans, and then made sure the proper equipment and people were available both to run the mission and to rescue those on the mission if the need should arise. Most of it was what some might consider boring work. It wasn’t always useful, but once in a while saved lives, and that more than justified it to John. Add in training, coordinating with his staff, generally keeping an eye out for anything out of the ordinary involving his own people, and the intermittent catastrophic threats they faced, and it was… a lot. But when things went wrong, John had the luxury of turning around and pointing a gun right in a threat’s face. Or having his own neck on the line. Doing something. Not sitting and waiting and praying. 

When Rodney hadn’t come back to his quarters by 10, John got… not worried, exactly. Concerned. Because Rodney had just gotten stabbed, after all, and he’d been up part of the night before, and— 

“He can take care of himself,” John told his quarters. 

He wasn’t Rodney’s keeper. Rodney didn’t owe him constant updates. He was probably fine, passed out face-down on a lab table somewhere, or flying on three pots of coffee while tinkering with delicate equipment. Rodney didn’t like how Teyla worried, how Zelenka worried. 

John called him on the radio. “Hey, Rodney?” 

“What?”

He sounded mildly annoyed. Which for Rodney was default. “I just beat your Tetris high score.” 

“Temporarily,” Rodney said, and cut out. 

John wasn’t sure if he’d just pissed Rodney off or not until John’s door chimed. He thought it open. 

Rodney appeared. At some point he must’ve had a doughnut, because his front was sprinkled with white powder. “Right after I fix the doors so they can’t be overridden by anyone else, I am giving us both access to each other’s front doors because it’s stupid I can’t use this one.” 

“I mean we probably shouldn’t use each other’s front doors all the time,” John said. 

“We’re the only ones on the entire floor.” 

“What if I had guests over?” 

“When do you have guests over?”

It was a fair point. “I got you some dessert. You’re not doing cocaine, are you?” John asked. 

Rodney looked down, then waved it away and went for the to-go box. “No, or I’d be more awake than I am right now. Miko had powdered doughnuts, not sure where she got them. That was breakfast—” He opened the box. “Banana pudding. I love you.” 

John grinned a little. He grinned harder when Rodney stammered. 

“I—not that I. I mean not that I don’t—I—um.” 

John let him off the hook. “You want to sit down before you pass out?”

Rodney sat with him and ate while John played a round of Need For Speed. He leaned on John’s shoulder, and then John caught him as he toppled forward. He snorted back to wakefulness. 

“You should get some sleep.” 

Rodney nodded. “Thanks for the pudding.” 

“You’re welcome.”

Rodney kissed him on the cheek and got up. 

John’s cheek felt warm. He noticed that Rodney had decided to sleep in John’s bed. John played the next few rounds of the game poorly, then shut off the console. He hobbled into Rodney’s quarters, grabbed the blue blanket, and returned to find Rodney hogging about seventy percent of the big bed. John nudged him over and joined him. 

*****

John had never had a boyfriend, but he’d had relationships. He’d forgotten about a lot of what came with them. 

Like waking up with drool on your shoulder. Or trying to put on a shirt and figuring out it wasn’t yours. Having to scoot over on couches, roll over in beds to make room for someone else. Having someone to say good morning and good night to. Knowing that if you didn’t come home, someone would wonder where you were. How that could feel both claustrophobic and comforting. 

Or at least, he’d found it claustrophobic in the past. But maybe it had been long enough, or maybe he’d softened. Or maybe it was the way Rodney just kept walking through the adjoining doors like he owned both sets of quarters and had a natural right to John’s time, attention, space. Or maybe John just really, really liked him. The way Rodney liked banana pudding. 

_He came back for you._

“Look, just be cool,” John kept reminding himself. All he’d established for sure was that months ago, Rodney had been interested in possibly having sex with other men. It had sounded like something he hadn’t fully grasped until then—

_He came back for you._

Based on evidence, John was a likely object of his curiosity. And so far, things between them were good. Very good. Stupendously, fantastically, is-this-real-life good. 

But there would come a day when they’d disagree on something fundamental, or things might get too dangerous, and Rodney was still new to the whole being with a man thing. John was, too, in certain ways. He’d never had a boyfriend. He still might not, if he forced the issue before Rodney was ready. 

John wasn’t going to scare him away. He was going to be cool. “You want to play Tekken?” 

Rodney looked skeptical. 

“We could make it interesting.”

He raised an eyebrow. 

“Loser blows winner.” 

Rodney was a low-down dirty button-masher. John spent one of the happiest half-hours of his life kneeling on a pillow between Rodney’s legs and sucking him to the point of desperation, where John would back off just enough to draw it out a little longer. 

“You are seriously the worst,” Rodney moaned afterward.

“You love it,” John said. He licked Rodney’s taste off his own lips. 

“That was like torture. Like—sexy torture,” Rodney said. “Next game: the car racing one. Same stakes.” 

And really, John should’ve recognized earlier that Rodney McKay wasn’t going to just let him have the giving blow-jobs high score. Not without a fight. “You’re on.” 

Later, they slept in John’s bed. After Rodney had fallen asleep, John thought the windows clear and gazed out over the dark horizon and down at the ever-twinkling lights of Atlantis. 

After a while, Rodney rolled toward him. John opaqued the windows and let himself be pulled back into bed and a deep, dreamless sleep. 

*****

When the news finally broke about the IOA’s upcoming inspection, the city panicked and prepped. Woolsey had assured everyone that there was no cause for alarm, but John had to swerve the scooter to dodge more than one marine flat-out running down a hallway.

Everyone was convinced the IOA would be looking at everything, going over mission reports. The whole city was treating it like a surprise audit, and John couldn’t devote his attention to one thing before someone else needed him to check something, sign off here, rubber stamp there. Rodney kept busy too; the science department had far more space and projects than people. 

They both got to-go dinners and wordlessly brought them upstairs. They ate and watched an old episode of original Star Trek. Kirk fought the Gorn Captain—a real classic. 

“No way could the stuntman move in that lizard suit.” 

“Speaking of stuntmen, wait for it…” John liked calling it the minute Shatner stepped out and his stuntman rolled in. “Now, stunt guy.” 

“Definitely,” Rodney said.

“Shatner can scrap, though.” 

Rodney nodded his agreement. 

After dinner and the episode, Rodney broke out his laptop. John got on his too. After-hours emails had piled up. “You’d think we were being attacked by the Wraith.” 

“Not sure which I’d prefer right now.” 

John tried for a reproachful nudge with the walking boot; he missed, thunked it against the couch, and winced. “Ow.” 

Rodney set his laptop aside. “Take that thing off. I believe I mentioned some serious foot massage skills.” 

John didn’t even challenge him. He just un-strapped the walking boot and submitted. For the first five minutes, all he did was groan. Then he gradually recovered enough sense to listen to Rodney. 

“…The priority list changes at a lightning-quick speed here. It made far more sense to just set up a new project in a new lab, reassign staff, and lock up any unstaffed labs until such time as we might, um, get back to it.” 

John tried to frown while he lay back on the couch. It was hard when Rodney managed to find and massage all the places his injured ankle ached. “So you’re telling me we have a bunch of locked work-in-progress labs?” 

“Seventeen. Even if we started clearing them out now—we wouldn’t get it all done in time, and it’s obvious in the reports.” Rodney’s thumbs found a good spot.

John groaned and let his eyes close. “Is this massage a bribe?” 

“I don’t know, is it working?” 

“Maybe.” John considered the issue. The one thing Atlantis had in abundance was extra space. “I mean it’s probably not ideal. But if we have a city of empty labs then I don’t see why it’s the worst solution.” John thought. “Could get problematic as you get into the range of fifty or sixty locked labs. Hard to keep track of.” He didn’t quite moan as Rodney’s hands worked. “Anyway, it’s Woolsey’s problem.”

“It might not be his problem. If they promote you.” 

John knew that. He’d been trying not to think about it. “I don’t really want to be your boss.” 

“You boss me around plenty as-is.” 

John propped himself up on his elbows. “You don’t… want me to take the position, do you?” 

Rodney sighed. “Would I be thrilled if you weren’t on missions and some braindead half-wit got to take over? No. But I also would not be thrilled if they install some militaristic psychopath in Woolsey’s stead.”

“They could bring back Carter.”

“Much as I don’t love running all my theories by her, she’s at least competent.” He stilled. “And I know she wouldn’t care about… us.” 

Oh. John understood. “If it were me, you think I could help keep us covered?” 

“Hey, I fixed the doors. I can wipe camera footage, I can do—all sorts of things that a good boss might frown upon. But there are certain things I don’t have control over.”

“Yeah, Rodney.” John sat up. “The job also makes me even more visible, and gives us less reason to hang out together all the time.”

“But now we live here.” Rodney gestured to their quarters.

“If I’m not on missions, I have to sit back and wait for you to come through the gate and hope every time you weren’t all killed,” John insisted. He caught himself breathing hard. Were they fighting? He wasn’t sure. 

“I can take care of myself pretty well, you know. You are the one who taught me to shoot.” 

“Your pistol scores still need work.” 

Rodney shook his head at John’s ankle. “We just started this. And it already feels like this is how things should be.” He snuck a glance at John. “Or is it just me?” 

John’s pulse raced. “It’s not just you.” 

“Okay.” Rodney nodded. “Disabling the gate and cutting us off from Earth for a few months would probably do more harm than good, right?” 

John leaned over and very lightly thumped him on the side of the head. “Don’t become an evil super genius.” 

“No promises.”

*****

The IOA arrived. Four people, two men, two women, each in a smart suit and armed with laptops and file boxes. Woolsey greeted them in the gate room with handshakes. He introduced them around, and eventually led them to John. 

Instead of a handshake, John kept his hands in his pockets and offered them a casual nod. His palms felt sweaty. “Nice to meet you folks. Thanks for making the trip.” 

The council of four disappeared behind a closed conference room door with Woolsey all morning. John worked on reports and began inventory visual inspections. 

The call came over the radio around three in the afternoon. 

John took his time gliding through the halls on the knee scooter. He entered the conference room with as much gravitas as the knee scooter would allow. 

The four faced Woolsey over a shiny oval table. Woolsey’s crisp black suit made him look like he was dressed for a funeral. Dr. Sherri sat next to Woolsey, her braids gathered smartly back, the crispness of her white lab coat communicating authority. 

Copies of medical scans and print-outs fanned out on the table. Each showed a glimpse inside a human skull, and centered on a small, strange mass. Suddenly the answer to a puzzle John hadn’t realized was there revealed itself. 

John sat down. He ignored the four and directed his question at Woolsey. “How long have you known?” 

Woolsey looked at Dr. Sherri. 

“Four months?” she offered.

“Sounds right,” Woolsey confirmed. 

“The prognosis is good—” Dr. Sherri began. 

“Please, before we get into this again,” one of the foursome interrupted. 

“Hold on a minute,” John told them. “Nobody else knows?” 

“I didn’t want them to,” Woolsey said. “It wasn’t relevant.”

John raised his eyebrows at that. “But you’re telling me now. Why?” 

“It’s time we got it out of there,” Dr. Sherri said. 

“The world’s finest specialists are on standby,” one of the four said. 

“To come here?” John asked. 

They shifted in their chairs. “Back on Earth, of course.” 

John turned back to Woolsey and Dr. Sherri. “They want to ship you back for surgery and recovery.”

Woolsey grimaced. “That’s about the size of it.” 

John ignored the IOA’s attempts to butt in. “You don’t want to go?” 

Now it was Woolsey’s turn to squirm. “No. If all goes well, recovery should take a couple of weeks. I’m already settled here.”

“It’s brain surgery,” the IOA said.

“Can you do the operation?” John asked Dr. Sherri.

“I can. But if I could pick and choose a dream team, there are two very fine surgeons offworld that I’d put at the top of my list,” Dr. Sherri said. 

“Okay,” John said. He turned to the IOA. “So we’ll bring Dr. Sherri’s picks here.”

Feathers rustled. Every member of the IOA squawked and hissed and growled. There were excuses of security clearances and what ifs about imminent threats to the city. 

John acknowledged them and countered that if they wanted, they could keep the surgeons blindfolded while they traveled, set up a sealed area for the surgery, and they could move the surgeons from Earth to Atlantis without ever disclosing where they’d been brought.

“Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard, it would be far easier for Mr. Woolsey to go home,” one of the women explained. 

John glanced at Woolsey. 

He looked sweaty and nervous and hopeful, sitting there in his funeral suit. 

If Woolsey went back to Earth and the IOA replaced him, it would be so simple to deny him a return. An easy excuse for a changing of the guard, for someone on Earth to flex some political muscle with a pointless replacement. Woolsey hadn’t been among those first through the iris, but at this point? He’d been with them long enough. 

“We need him here,” John told the IOA. “You bring the surgeons. We’ll get it scheduled. I’ll keep the city running while Woolsey recovers. Temporarily, sir, of course.” 

“Of course,” Woolsey replied. 

“You know, this kind of works out,” John confessed to the IOA. “I twisted my ankle last week. Gives me something to sink my teeth into while I’m riding a desk.” 

*****

Hours later, after angry inspections and muttered threats, they sent the IOA representatives home. John joined Woolsey for a drink in his office. 

Woolsey poured and passed over a glass of brandy.

John raised it. “To…” 

“Being here,” Woolsey finished.

They clinked and drank.

“Obviously something could go wrong. The worst could happen.” Woolsey laughed. “The Wraith could show up in the middle of surgery.” 

Or worse, John thought. But it didn’t need to be said. “We’ll figure it out. You know? You could’ve told me. Someone.”

Woolsey thought. “Colonel, when I was fourteen, my Grandfather gave me a hundred dollars at the end of the school year. He said ‘have some fun this summer.’ I’d always had some kind of summer job doing this or that.” 

“What did you do?” 

“I bought two used lawnmowers and started a landscape business.” 

It was John’s turn to laugh. 

“We did very well. My Grandfather didn’t understand. He wanted me to be a kid. Have fun. But I find my work very satisfying. And I learned early on that too much down time tends to have a negative effect on me.” Woolsey drained his drink and set down the glass. “I worried that if I said anything, people would want me to have fun. To stop working. To relax. Do you know how I relax?” 

“You update and color-code your agenda?” John guessed.

Woolsey blinked. “I also like crossword puzzles. But sent back to Earth, nothing to do but sit and wait, with, let’s face it, lip service given to when I could possibly get back—no. No, thank you.” He looked down at his almost-empty glass. “I should’ve given you more credit, Colonel. Had I known you could be such a steamroller, I could’ve asked for your help earlier. Wouldn’t have wasted so much time.” He finished the drink.

John flashed back then, to the moment he’d said goodbye to Rodney. When he’d hugged him a little too hard, for too long. He imagined what might’ve happened if he’d said something then. If he’d told Rodney not to go. If he could’ve rewound time back further, before Jennifer Keller, before Katie Brown, all the way back to Rodney’s first Hail Mary moment, when he’d used the personal shield to save everyone. That first moment when John had thought _him_. If he’d said something then. 

“Thank you for stepping up, Colonel. I appreciate it. We’ll need to coordinate schedules. You may have to step down from missions. Temporarily, of course.”

“Of course, sir. Don’t mention it.” 

*****

John found Rodney in the lab. He bent over a drone with its insides ripped out. 

“Colonel,” Rodney said, one hand buried in drone guts, the other typing notes on a laptop. “As you can see, anti-replicator drone research has hit a few snags. How did it go with the IOA? They marched through, but nobody said anything about the…” Rodney untangled himself and stood. “What happened?” 

_Woolsey’s getting a brain tumor removed_ and _I’m going to be the interim leader of Atlantis while he recovers_ and _it’s okay, everything’s fine_ swirled around in his head. Easy things to say. But John had already wasted so much time. “Did you come back for me?” 

There were people in the lab; a couple of scientists, but a ways off and engaged in their own conversation. Rodney and John both looked at them, then back at each other. 

“Um,” Rodney said. He wiped his hands on a rag. 

“Because you said that stuff about practicing, and I—”

“This is not the time and place to have this discussion,” Rodney whispered. “Don’t get me wrong, it would only raise my social status around here if word got out, but you need to watch out for—”

John felt light-headed and a little nauseous. “If you did, I’m glad. Also, I want you to be my boyfriend.” 

Rodney glanced over at the unconcerned scientists and back at John. “I’m not your boyfriend?” 

John shrugged. “I mean. You are. If you want to be?” 

“Oh. I just thought I already was? With the secrecy and the—I’ve never done this with another man before.” 

“Well neither have I,” John whispered back. 

“Okay, well I didn’t know the process was so formal,” Rodney said. “Do I need to sign something? Take you to dinner?” 

“Dinner sounds nice, actually,” John said. “You want to get dinner?” 

“Sure, I could eat.” Rodney put down the rag, reached up, and gently thumped John on the side of the head. “Yes, I’ll be your boyfriend. You lunatic.” 

As they went up to the mess hall, John might’ve used the knee scooter to do a victory loop or two around Rodney. 

Later on in the mess, Rodney leaned over and whispered, “I didn’t come back for you, exactly. I would’ve come back anyway, I just—I hoped.” 

And that night in bed, Rodney said, “Jeannie is going to be so smug.” 

“Why?” John asked. He’d draped himself along Rodney’s un-stabbed side. 

“She accused me of having a crush on you years ago.” He groaned. “Once she knows we’re together, you’ll never escape a holiday visit. You can try, but she’ll design a wormhole made of guilt to suck you in and you’ll find yourself at the world’s most meatless Christmas dinner—”

“There’s cheese, though, right?”

“She tries to be vegan, but she’s weak. The trick is getting the really good stuff. Imported Italian hard cheeses seem to go over well. Asiago, parmesan… Are you getting turned on by cheese talk?” 

“I don’t know, are you?” John asked, as he slid his hand underneath Rodney’s waistband. 

That night, John thought the windows in his quarters clear. He laid down next to Rodney’s warmth, underneath a double-layer of blankets, and gazed out at the bright stars in the sky. He imagined all the worlds there, nestled in the dark spaces, sleeping. He had the song Desperado in his head. But tonight, unlike other nights, the melody just made him smile. 

Rodney let out a snore. 

John nudged him over, and wriggled in against his back. He whispered a few words. Words he wasn’t ready to say just yet. But he would be someday, and soon. 

EPILOGUE

Life went on. 

John got the walking boot off. Not that it mattered, because Richard Woolsey went under the knife the next week and John assumed his mantle temporarily, which put him behind a desk. 

Dr. Sherri described her guest surgeons’ performance as ‘balletic.’ And while John thought that was one heck of a word to use in conjunction with slicing somebody’s head open, he was glad to hear that two days later, Woolsey was already driving everyone in the med bay crazy by trying to audit their operating procedures. John and Teyla took up a collection of lightly used crossword puzzle books to help keep him occupied. 

It was weird sitting in Woolsey’s chair, though. Especially when he looked up at his team and asked them for clarification on a recent mission. And when he had to tell Rodney that he really needed to clean out a couple of those locked labs. 

“Eye-rolling is not attractive,” he called through the adjoining doors to Rodney later on. 

“Will sexual favors sway you? Because—”

“No.” John had to hold strong on that front. He also had to hold strong whenever his team went out without him, and when tempted to write sarcastic replies to queries from Earth, and whenever anybody implied that he didn’t know what the hell he was doing. 

“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing,” John told Teyla at one of their daily strategy sessions.

“Come now, John, you are good at keeping secrets,” she mumbled over a map. 

John looked up from his tablet. 

Teyla’s mouth opened. “He did not mean to tell me he’d spoken to you.” 

“Oh, well, that makes it okay,” said John. How could Rodney have already blown it?

Teyla sighed. “Ronon just wants you both to be happy. As do I. Rodney cares for you. And I know how much you care for him—”

“Right,” John said. 

Later that night, John sat Rodney down. “I’ve given this a lot of thought. I think we should tell Ronon and Teyla.”

“Oh, thank God,” Rodney said. 

“You’re okay with this?” John asked.

“Have you ever tried to lie to Teyla? She might as well have me wired with electrodes.”

“Yeah, Ronon can smell a rat, too.” John tried to steer the conversation back to his talking points. “Once we tell them, you understand—it’ll be out there.” 

“Yes, yes, cat out of the bag. Go ahead.” 

“You don’t want to do it together?” 

“Hmm? You mean ‘do it’?” Rodney gave John an appreciative once-over. 

“Focus, Rodney.” 

They did it at movie night. John got out a few words, but after trying and failing to find more, he reached over and took Rodney’s hand in his own. 

“I knew it,” Teyla announced to the penthouse. 

“Took you long enough.” Ronon had brought a bowl of jerky of indeterminate origin to movie night. He bit into a hunk.

Teyla kicked her feet up on John’s coffee table. “I believe someone owes someone else a week of free babysitting.”

Ronon shook his head at circumstance and John. “You guys couldn’t have figured it out earlier? He came back for you.” 

“That’s not—” Rodney began. He cut himself off. “It’s an oversimplification.” 

John frowned. “You didn’t bet on if. You bet on when?” 

Teyla laughed weakly. “My goodness, the hour is growing late. While I am so happy for you both, we should start tonight’s movie. My choice: _The Eyes of Laura Mars_. Starring Faye Dunaway, who was so good in _Bonnie and Clyde_ , and a young Tommy Lee Jones.” 

John cut a glance at Rodney. _She’s officially got a crush._

 _Oh, totally_ , his expression said. 

After the movie, John tried to bring up the whole secrecy issue. 

Teyla touched her forehead to his. “We are, as you would say, way ahead of you. Thank you both for trusting us with this.” 

“You want to try and race tomorrow? Me versus you on the scooter?” Ronon asked. 

“Definitely,” John said. Dr. Sherri had been letting him hold onto it while he got used to using his ankle again.

“I am not saving you coffee,” Rodney threatened. 

“It’s okay. He will,” John said. 

Woolsey got better, day by day. They’d set him up in private quarters about as small as John’s old ones right near med bay, so he could have some privacy and independence without running the staff ragged. John came to him with smaller issues, asking for advice. Woolsey had been right about himself and work; puzzles and problems seemed to help him thrive. Soon, Woolsey was handling emails from his room. When John started opening up the day’s calendar and finding it color-coded, he knew his days as interim leader were numbered. 

“It’ll be a real relief to get back out there,” John told Lorne. 

“At this point, sir, I’ve had my fill of time off world. You can have it back.” Lorne got up to leave, but paused in front of Woolsey’s office door without opening it. “Uh, sir? A small thing.”

“What’s that, Major?” 

“The tower. The transporter there seems to be malfunctioning. Whenever anyone tries to go there, they end up in the lobby. Even if they wanted another floor. We seem to be locked out of the rest of the tower,” Lorne explained. 

_Rodney._ “Huh. Well, I couldn’t say where the glitch is, but I’ll bet Rodney could fix it. I’ll have a word with him.” 

“Sir.” Lorne hesitated. “You might let him know that if he were to lock out, say, the top two floors of the tower, we’d still have plenty of space for administration, quarters, and he could—set up a privacy buffer.”

“Oh, you don’t want to do that,” John said. “You give Rodney even a tentative signal that he’s good to take over the lower floor, you’ll have drones up there again. McKay is sneaky.”

“Ah.” Major Lorne nodded. He hesitated again and suddenly blurted. “With all due respect, sir, it’s just that your quarters are big and they don’t have the city’s best soundproofing. So the floor below them—you don’t want anyone there. I won’t move anyone in there. They’ll be empty, sir. If you could tell Doctor McKay…” Major Lorne trailed off. His face flushed. “To open up the others, but lock those floors out.”

John leaned back in Woolsey’s desk chair and considered his scarily competent subordinate. Lorne, who’d made the decision to move John and Rodney to the tower in the first place. Lorne, who’d taken an offhand comment from Rodney and used it to solve one—or was it two?—problems. Lorne, who, come to think of it, always made sure to send him out with Rodney, Ronon, and Teyla when possible. Lorne, who sent Happy Birthday emails to everyone, even the new arrivals, and knew the ins and outs of John’s job even after he’d taken over Woolsey’s duties. Lorne, who probably noticed things before anyone else did. “I’ll tell Rodney the floor below us is reserved for some project. I don’t know, I’ll come up with something. And I’ll get him to restore access to the other floors.” 

“Great. Thank you, sir.” Major Lorne turned to leave. 

“Major?” John considered his words. There were things he couldn’t say. “Thank you. Those are—some really nice quarters, up there.” 

Lorne bobbed his head in a nod. His smile might’ve been a little smug. “I thought you might come around, sir. You’re welcome.” 

That night in said nice quarters, John made Rodney promise to change the transporter settings. John currently sat at the top of the Tetris leaderboard; as Rodney cursed and tried to beat his high score, John considered what would’ve happened if Lorne hadn’t moved him. If he hadn’t twisted his ankle and had been able to move right back out. If he’d never discovered Rodney on the other side of the adjoining door. If he’d stayed in his old quarters, comfortable and alone. 

“Yes!” Rodney hopped up and shouted at the screen. He raised the controller high overhead and performed a short yet staggeringly ungraceful victory dance. 

He’d thought there would come a moment when he should say it. A serious moment; a right moment. One that mattered. Close enough, thought John. “Hey. I love you.” 

“Hm?” Rodney entered his initials on the high score screen. He put down the controller. “Wait, you love me?” 

John picked at the edge of the couch. Maybe he should’ve waited. “Too soon?” 

“No, it’s just—” Rodney flopped down next to him. “You’ve been telling the back of my neck ‘I love you’ for weeks now.”

“Heard that, did you?” John’s throat ran dry. “I thought you were asleep.” 

“Sometimes I’m sure I was.” Rodney lifted John’s arm and draped it over his shoulder. “But once I heard it, I tried to stay awake long enough to catch you.” 

“You caught me,” John said. Okay, so it had been too soon. But someday—

“I love you, too, of course,” Rodney said. 

John grinned. He kissed Rodney, hot and slow and deep, and stole the controller out of his hand. 

“I know you did that,” Rodney said.

“Mm,” John murmured as he kissed Rodney’s neck. 

“You didn’t get away with anything—is—my point,” Rodney panted. 

Later, after John had lost track of what happened to the controller and his pants, he pillowed his head on Rodney’s chest and thought _yeah, I kind of did_. 

THE END


End file.
